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UC-NRLF 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE 


A.  W,  PINERO'S  PLAYS. 


PLEASE  READ  CAREFULLY. 

THE  acting  rights  of  the  following  plays  have  been  reserved 
by  the  author.  Performance  is  strictly  forbidden  unless  the 
express  consent  of  the  author's  agents  has  first  been  obtained; 
and  attention  is  called  to  the  penalties  provided  by  law  for  the 
infringement  of  his  rights,  as  follows: 

"  SEC.  4966 :  Any  person  publicly  performing  or  representing  any 
dramatic  or  musical  composition,  for  which  copyright  has  been  ob- 
tained, without  the  consent  of  the  proprietor  of  said  dramatic  or 
musical  composition,  or  his  heirs  or  assigns,  shall  be  liable  for  dam- 
ages therefor,  such  damages  in  all  cases  to  be  assessed  at  such  sum, 
not  less  than  one  hundred  dollars  for  the  first  and  fifty  dollars  for 
every  subsequent  performance,  as  to  the  court  shall  appear  to  be  just. 
If  the  unlawful  performance  and  representation  be  wilful  and  for  profit, 
such  person  or  persons  shall  be  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor,  and  upon 
conviction  be  imprisoned  for  a  period  not  exceeding  one  year." — 
U.  S.  REVISED  STATUTES,  Title  60,  Chap.  3. 

Permission  to  perform  these  plays  privately  and  by  amateur 
players  may  be  obtained  from  the  publishers  on  payment,  in 
advance,  of  a  royalty  of  $10.00  for  each  performance.  Persons 
wishing  to  present  them  professionally  and  for  a  number  of  per- 
formances should  apply  to  Mr.  Dan'l  Frohman,  Lyceum  Theatre, 
New  York,  for  such  permission  and  for  terms. 

The  Amazons.  The  Notorious  Mrs.  Ebbsmith. 

The  Cabinet  Minister*  The  Profligate. 

Dandy  Dick.  The  Schoolmistress. 

The  Hobby  Horse*  The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray. 

Lady  Bountiful.  Sweet  Lavender* 

The  Magistrate.  The  Times. 

The  Weaker  Sex. 


Any  of  the  above  sfftt,  Post  paid,  on  receipt  of  price  (50  CENTS  EACH)  &y 

BAKER,  5  HAMILTON  PLACE,  BOSTON. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE 


A   COMEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


ARTHUR    W.    PINERO 


BOSTON : 
WALTER   H.  BAKER   &   CO. 


COPYKTGHT,   1892,   BY 

ARTHUR    W.    PINERO. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


F.  H.  QILSON  COMPANY 

PRINTERS   AND   BOOKBINDERS 

BOSTON.     U     8.   A. 


THE   PERSONS   OF  THE  PLAY. 


SPENCER  JERMYN,  MRS.  PORCHER, 

MRS.  SPENCER  JERMYN,  SHATTOCK, 

TOM  CLARK,  PEWS, 

REV.  NOEL  BRICE,  LYMAN, 

BERTHA,  MOULTER, 

PINCHING,  MRS.  LANDON, 

Miss  MOXON,  TINY  LANDON, 
HEWETT. 


THE   FIRST   ACT. 
A  CHAPTER  OP  PHILANTHROPY. 

THE  SECOND  ACT. 
A  CHAPTER  OF  SENTIMENT. 


THE  THIRD   ACT. 
A  CHAPTER  OP  EXPIATION. 


M51O547 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 


Six  years  ago  dramatic  conventionality  exercised  an 
even  greater  tyranny  than  it  does  to-day,  and  Brit- 
ish playgoers  were  less  prepared  than  now  to  look 
favorably  upon  any  effort  to  resist  it.  That  the  per- 
sons in  a  play  should  be  dealt  with  according  to  the 
probabilities  of  actual  life,  when  these  clashed  with 
the  dictates  of  theatrical  custom  and  "  poetical  jus- 
tice," was  not  to  be  endured.  The  expectations  of 
an  audience  were  held  sacred,  and  were  not  to  be 
tampered  with.  They  were  as  inexorable  as  the 
laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  and  any  dramatist 
who  had  the  temerity  to  bring  down  his  curtain 
without  having  first  made  all  his  sympathetic  char- 
acters happy  might  expect  little  favor.  But  even  at 
that  time  Mr.  Pinero  was  always  inclined  to  fly  in 
the  face  of  the  theatrically  conventional  in  some 
way  or  another,  and  he  actually  dared  to  write  a 
play  in  which  a  young  clergyman,  for  whom  the 
deep  sympathy  of  the  audience  was  enlisted,  was  per- 
mitted to  fall  innocently  and  honorably  in  love  with 


ii  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

a  married  woman  while  he  had  thought  her  single, 
and  to  suffer  pain  on  her  account,  without  the  hus- 
band being  conveniently  killed  off  in  the  last  act  to 
prepare  the  way  for  the  clergyman's  expected  matri- 
monial happiness.  And  this  play  Mr.  Pinero,  hav- 
ing his  own  dramatic  purpose  in  view,  described  as 
a  comedy. 

"  The  Hobby  Horse  "  was  produced  at  the  St. 
James's  Theatre,  under  the  management  of  Mr. 
Hare  and  Mr.  Kendal,  on  October  23,  1886,  and  it 
was  acted  until  February  26,  1887,  one  hundred 
and  nine  performances  being  given  in  all.  The  fol- 
lowing is  a  copy  of  the  programme  of  the  first  rep- 
resentation : 

ST.  JAMES'S  THEATEE. 
LESSEES  AND  MANAGERS,  MR.  HARE  AND  MR.  KENDAL. 


THIS  EVENING,  SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  23rd,  1886, 
At  8  o'clock, 

WILL  BE   ACTED 
AN  ORIGINAL  COMEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS,   CALLED 

THE  HOBBY-HORSE, 

WRITTEN  BY 

A.    W.    PINERO. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE  in 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 

REV.  NOEL  BRYCE     .        .        .  Mr.  HERBERT  WARING. 

MK.  SPENCER  JERMYN        .        .  Mr.  HARE. 

MH.  PINCHING    ....  Mr.  C.  W.  SOMERSET. 

MR.  SHATTOCK    ....  Mr.  MACKINTOSH. 

MR.  PEWS Mr.  HENDRIE. 

MR.  LYMAN         ....  Mr.  W.  M.  CATHCART. 

MR.  MOULTER     ....  Mr.  THOMAS. 

TOM  CLARK         ....  Mr.  FULLER  MELLISH. 

HEWETT Mr.  ALBERT  SIMS. 

TINY  LANDON     ....  Master  REED. 

MRS.  SPENCER  JEHMYN      .        .  Mrs.  KENDAL. 

MRS.  PORCHER  ....  Mrs.  GASTON  MURRAY." 

Miss  MOXON       ....  Mrs.  B.  TREE. 

BERTHA      .....  Miss  WEBSTER. 

MRS.  LANGDON  .  Miss  B.  HUNTLEY. 


ACT  I. 
A  CHAPTER  OF  PHILANTHROPY. 

At  Mr.  JERMYN'S. 
Garden  of  Odium  House,  Over- Lessingham,  nearNewmarket. 


ACT  II. 
A  CHAPTER  OF  SENTIMENT. 

Mr.  BRICE'S  Lodgings: 
Overlooking  the  Church  of  St.  JacoVs-in-the-East. 


IV  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

ACT  IIL 

A  CHAPTER  OP  EXPIATION. 

Odium  House  again  ;  the  Morning  Room. 


THE   SCENERY  PAINTED  BY  THE  ARTIST  TO  THE   THEATRE, 
MR.    HARFORD. 


Though  it  would  be  unjust  to  write  this  play 
down  a  failure  it  was  not  exactly  a  success.  That 
large  section  of  the  playgoing  public  which  expects 
only  to  laugh  at  a  comedy,  was  puzzled  between  the 
comic  and  the  sentimental  aspects  of  the  story,  and 
therefore  the  attendance  at  the  theatre  gradually 
diminished.  On  the  other  hand  there  were  many 
who  saw  that  this  play  was  intended  as  a  satire  on 
those  false  philanthropic  fads  which  are  a  sign  of  a 
sentimental  age  ;  who  recognized  in  the  abortive 
love  affair  of  the  young  curate,  not  an  injustice  done 
to  their  theatrical  sympathies,  not  a  capricious  piece 
of  cruelty  on  the  part  of  the  author,  but  the  dra- 
matic means  by  which  the  disastrous  consequences 
of  misdirected  philanthropy  were  to  be  emphasized. 
That  the  play  should  have  been  called  a  comedy 
provoked  the  ire  of  some  of  the  critics,  who 
promptly  repeated  the  charge  of  cynicism  which  has 
so  often  been  hurled  against  Mr.  Pinero  for  his  ef- 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE  V 

forts  to  be  as  true  to  life  as  the  restricted  conditions 
of  dramatic  composition  destined  for  the  stage  will 
allow.  And  to-day  if  you  ask  Mr.  Pinero  to  define 
a  comedy,  he  will  playfully  tell  you  it  is  a  farce 
written  by  a  deceased  author. 

Perhaps  "  The  Hobby  Horse  "  in  its  defiance  of 
the  conventional  demand  for  wholesale  conjugal 
happiness  in  the  last  act,  though  an  ample  supply 
was  conceded,  was  a  little  before  its  time  ;  perhaps 
in  1886  it  still  required  the  Ibsen  controversy  to 
clear  the  theatrical  air  for  the  acceptance  of  such 
a  progressive  step  as  the  sacrifice  of  the  curate's 
feelings  and  future  domestic  comfort  to  the  artistic 
design  and  satirical  purpose  of  the  play.  Had 
"  The  Hobby  Horse  "  been  produced  at  the  present 
time,  who  knows  but  it  might  possibly  have  met 
with  greater  success,  for  though  we  may  still  quar- 
rel about  the  definition  of  comedy,  we  do  not  still 
insist  on  every  occasion  that  everybody  shall  be 
made  absolutely  and  irrevocably  happy  before  cur- 
tain-fall. 

MALCOLM  C.  SALAMAN. 


THE    HOBBY-HORSE 

THE  FIRST  ACT. 

A   CHAPTER   OF    PHILANTHROPY. 

The  scene  is  the  garden  and  exterior  of  a  picturesque 
old  country-house,  with  gables  and  porch  all  over- 
grown with  flowers,  the  residence  of  MR.  SPENCER 
JERMYN.  It  is  a  bright  May  morning. 

SHATTOCK  comes  cautiously  along  the  garden  walk,  fol- 
lowed by  PEWS  ;  SHATTOCK  a  bony,  ungainly- 
looking  man  of  about  forty,  with  high  shoulders, 
rounded  back,  close-cropped  head  set  forward,  and 
a  sallow,  keen-eyed  face ;  PEWS  a  snub-nosed, 
red-faced,  fat  little  man,  and  both  dressed  horsely 
but  very  shabbily. 


OHATTOCK. 

[Turning  sharply  upon  PEWS.]     Sssh  !     Can't  you 
turn  off  that  music  ? 

PEWS. 

[Panting  and  wiping  his  forehead.]     No,  I  cannot 
— if  you  allood  to  iny  breathing  a  bit  heavy. 


2  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SHATTOCK. 

You're  a  nice  broken-winded  gentleman  to  bring 
out  on  a  quiet  delicate  expedition.  Didn't  I  tell 
you,  Edward  Pews,  that  it  ain't  our  book  to  meet 
the  ladies  ?  Breathe  in  your  'at,  man  ;  breathe  in 
your  'at. 

PEWS. 

You  knew  I  was  a  roarer  when  you  brought  me 
here,  Samuel.  I  'ave  been  so  ever  since  I  got  ducked 
at  Doncaster  in  '84. 

SHATTOCK. 

[Crouching  on  the  steps  and  looking  into  the  house.'] 
There  they  are — I  see  'em,  all  of  'em — 'aving  their 
.morning  feed.  Mr.  Spencer  Jermyn  is  a  glancin'at 
the  newspaper — a  little  curious  about  the  prices  for 
the  Grand  Pree  apparently.  Mrs.  Jermyn  is  a  toy- 
ing with  a  hegg.  Oh,  you  beauty !  Who's  the 
other  ?  Oh,  Miss  Moxon,  the  lady  stayin'  in  the 
'ouse,  makes  a  bad  third.  All  right — Jermyn'll 
show  directly.  He  said  he'd  be  'appy  to  see  myself 
and  friend  this  morning  at  10  A.M. 

PEWS. 

Did  he  !  Then  why  the  dooce  are  we  sneakin'  up 
to  his  'ouse,  huggin'  the  rails  instead  of  takin'  the 
middle  o'  the  course  fair  and  open  ? 

SHATTOCK. 

I'll  tell  you,  Edward — then  p'rhaps  you'll  breathe 
a  little  peacefuller.  You've  seen  this  'ere  Spencer 
Jermyn  ? 


TUB  HOBBY-HORSE  3 

PEWS. 

At  pretty  nigh  hevery  race  meeting  for  the  last 
ten  years.  I've  see  him  at  Lincoln— I've  see  him  at 
Liverpool — I've  see  him  at  the  Epsom  Spring— I've 
see  him  'ere  at  Newmarket  —  I've  see  him  at  the 
Epsom  Summer — I've  see  him 

SHATTOCK. 

Very  well,  you've  see  him — that's  enough.  D'ye 
know  the  party  in  question  ? 

PEWS. 

I  can't  say  as  we've  ever  chummed,  but  I've  heered 
him  classed  as  a  generous  patron  of  the  turf  and  a 
good  and  game  thoroughbred  Henglish  gent. 

SHATTOCK. 

You've  hit  it — you've  enoomerated  Spencer  Jer- 
myn's  points  more  than  accurate.  He's  a  man  wot 
loves  the  'orse  and  all  them  wot  has  to  do  with  the 
'orse— he  loves  racin'  and  sport  and  pluck,  and  he'-s 
got  a  open  'and  for  any  broken-down  sportsman. 
Some  say  that  hi  intellectually  Mr.  Spencer  Jermyn 
wouldn't  pass  the  Vet.  Well,  /  ain't  going  to  howl 
about  that.  If  Spencer  Jermyn  takes  a  lovin'  fancy 
to  Samuel  Shattock,  ex-jockey,  ex-trainer,  ex-book- 
maker, hex — hex 

PEWS. 

Hex-welsher. 

SHATTOCK. 

That's  a  friendly  comment,  Edward !  [Looking  into 
the  house.}  Hullo,  they're  stirrin'. 


4  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

PEWS. 

But  you  'aven't  told  me,  Sam,  why  you  want  to 
fight  shy  of  the  women  folk. 

SHATTOCK. 

Why  !  Because  Mr.  Spencer  Jermyn  has  gone  and 
married  a  lady  who  don't  know  a  'orse  from  a  'am 
sandwich  ;  a  female  with  no  more  lovin'  sympathy 
for  the  Turf  and  them  wot  lives  by  it  than — than  the 
chaplain  of  York  Prison. 

PEWS. 

Hush,  drop  a  wail  over  the  past,  Sam. 
SHATTOCK. 

"  Always  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  ladies,  Mr. 
Shattock,"  says  Jermyn  to  me.  "  Mrs.  Jermyn  has 
no  eyes  for  anything  but  her  little  ragged  urchins." 

PEWS. 
What's  he  mean  by  that  ? 

SHATTOCK. 

Why,  he's  married  a  woman  with  a  craze.  She's 
a — a — a — a  philant'ropist. 

PEWS. 
Crikey ! 

SHATTOCK. 

Never  'appy  but  wot  she's  picking  up  dirty  little 
boys  and  girls  and  takin'  them  home  and  washing 
and  combing  'em,  and  giving  'em  cake  and  sermon. 
As  if  his  philant'ropy  wasn't  as  good  as  her  philan- 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  5 

t'ropy  !  As  if  we  didn't  want  washin'  and  combin' 
as  much — ay,  more  than  the  dirtiest  boys  and  girls 
in  England  !  Look  out !  [MRS.  LANDON,  a  poor 
widow,  comes  up  the  walk,  leading  TINY  LANDON.  a 
small  boy.']  There  !  What  did  I  tell  you  !  Here's 
one  of  Mrs.  -Jermyn's  little  devils,  ready  to  take  the 
bread  out  of  an  honest  man's  mouth. 

[SHATTOCK  steps  forward  to  meet  MRS.  LANDON.] 

MRS.  LANDON. 

I  beg  your  pardon,  sir — I  want  for  to  see  the  lady, 
Mrs.  Jerinyn. 

SHATTOCK. 

Tall,  fair  lady ;  went  down  that  theer  avenue  about 
twenty  minutes  ago.  Am  I  correct  in  what  I  am 
sayin',  Mr.  Pews  ? 

PEWS. 

I  certainly  see  a  tall,  fair  lady  goin'  down  the  ave- 
nue, a  carrying  a  red  plush  bag  with  a  monygram 
on  it. 

MRS.  LANDON. 

Eh,  but  she  told  me  not  to  fail  to  bring  my  little 
boy  this  morning.  I  am  that  disappointed. 

SHATTOCK. 

She  was  similarly  anxious  for  to  see  Mr.  Pews — I 
'ave  brought  'im  miles  and  miles.  We're  all  in  the 
same  basket,  seems  to  me. 

[HEWETT,  a  groom,  comes  from  the  house.] 

HEWETT. 

[To  PEWS  and  SHATTOCK.]  Hullo,  what  do  you 
want? 


6  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SHATTOCK. 

We're  a'  waitin'  for  to  see  Mr.  Jermyn,  Mr. 
Hewett.  Don't  hasten  him,  sir — our  time's  our  own. 

HEWETT. 

Oh,  good-morning,  Mrs.  Landon.  Mistress  said 
I  was  to  take  you  and  Tiny  to  her  room  d'rectly  you 
came. 

MBS.  LANDON. 

These  gentlemen  thought  they  saw  her  go  out — 
they  must  have  been  mistaken. 

HEWETT. 

'Taint  the  first  time  in  their  lives  they've  been 
mistaken,  I  dare  say.  Come  along  o'  me. 

[MES.  LANDON  follows  HEWETT  up  the  steps  to  the 
house.] 

SHATTOCK. 

[Cuffing  TINY,  who  runs  after  his  mother]  You 
get  shown  in,  do  you — you  pushing  little  cad  ! 

[MB.  JEBMYN,  a  smart,  dapper  little  man  of  forty-five 
or  fifty,  with  a  sporting  appearance,  comes  through 
the  porch  and  meets  HEWETT,  MBS.  LANDON,  and 
TINY  on  the  steps.] 

SPENCEB  JEBMYN. 

Ah,  Mrs.  Landon,  how  do  you  do  ?  Getting  over 
your  trouble  ? 

MBS.  LANDON. 
Slowly,  sir. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  7 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Your  boy  doesn't  grow  much— put  him  into  a 
stable  and  make  a  jockey  of  him.  [MRS.  LANDON 
and  TINY  go  inside  with  HEWETT.]  Lord  bless  me ! 
Another  rackety  little  imp  running  about  the  place 
— we're  swarming  with  'em.  Ah,  if  my  scheme 
should  by  any  chance  satisfy  Diana's  philanthropic 
cravings,  what  a  relief  it  would  be  ! 

SHATTOCK. 

[Meeting  JERMYN  as  he  descends  the  steps.]  Good- 
mornin',  Mr.  Spencer  Jermyn,  sir. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Ah,  Mr.  Shattock,  you're  punctual,  I'm  glad  to  see 
SHATTOCK. 

Yes,  Mr.  Jermyn,  sir,  and  I've  ventured  for  to 
bring  with  me  the  other  deservin'  case  I  mentioned. 
Mr.  Hedward  Pews,  formerly  a  boy  in  John  Gor- 
ton's stable — he  rode  Hysteria  for  Lord  Oscott  in 
the  Hoaks  so  fur  back  as  '56 — being  suspended 
from  riding  at  Goodwood  in  '61  on  a  unjust  charge 
of  'orrid  language  at  the  post,  he  took  to  drink  and 
put  on  flesh  rapid.  In  proof  whereof  I  ask  you  to 
look  at  'im.  Since  that  time  he  has  been  various, 
but  never  lucky.  He 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

All  right — all  right.  What  has  he  been  doing 
lately  ? 


8  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

PEWS. 

Selling  tips  in  envelopes,  sir— and  doin'-  poorly, 
my  voice  not  tellin'  after  the  fust  hour. 

SPENCER  JEEMYN. 
Can  he  refer  me  to  anybody  ? 

SHATTOCK. 

[With  jeering  confidence.]  Can  he  refer  you  to 
anybody  ! 

PEWS. 

Can  I  refer  you  to  anybody  !     Ho  ! 

SHATTOCK. 

[Admiringly.]  Can  you  refer  him  to  anybody  ! 
[They  look  uneasily  at  each  other]  Can  he  refer  you 
to — hem  ! — well,  in  a  sort  of  way,  Mr.  Pews  gives 
me  as  a  refryence. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Oh — well,  I'll  make  inquiries.  All  I  can  say  for 
the  present  is,  I  don't  dislike  your  friend's  face. 
[PEWS  wipes  his  face  carefully  with  a  dirty  handker- 
chief] And  now  I  had  better  explain,  Mr.  Shat- 
tock,  why  I  desired  to  see  you  this  morning.  Sit 
down — don't  mind  me — sit  down.  [SHATTOCK  and 
PEWS  sit  side  by  side  on  a  garden  bench]  I  will  walk 
about.  I  am  so  excitedly  interested  in  my  scheme 
that  I  really  cannot  discuss  it  sitting  down. 

SHATTOCK. 
We  will  hear  you  out,  sir — we  will  hear  you  out. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

PEWS. 
You're  a  gentleman,  sir — none  better. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

My  scheme  is  this.  Mrs.  Jermyn,  my  wife,  is  a 
lady  of  a  most  charitable  disposition.  It  is  my 
fault  entirely  that  I  have  comparatively  little  sym- 
pathy with  the  precise  form  of  her  generosity. 
However,  that's  nothing  to  do  with  you,  my  men. 

SHATTOCK. 
Go  on,  sir — we're  'earin'  you. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Mrs.  Jermyn,  on  the  other  hand,  has  no  feeling 
for  anything  or  anybody  connected  with  the  Turf  or 
the  Stable — no  feeling  except  one  of  positive  distaste. 

PEWS. 

Shame !     Shame  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

How  dare  you  employ  that  ejaculation  in  refer- 
ence to  Mrs.  Jermyn,  sir  ?  What  do  you  mean  by 
it,  eh  ? 

SHATTOCK. 

[To  PEWS.]     Now  I  'ope  you're  proud  of  yourself  ! 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Mrs.  Jermyn's  prejudices  are  quite  beyond  not 
only  the  censure  but  the  comprehension  of  such  as 
ourselves. 


10  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 


SHATTOCK. 

[To  PEWS.]  Because  your  face  gets  flattered  you 
go  and  lose  your  'ead  ! 

SPENCER  JEEMYN. 

But  I  think,  Mr.  Shattock,  that  I  have  discovered 
a  method  of  blending  Mrs.  Jermyn's  notions  of 
philanthropy  with  a  pet  plan  of  my  own  to  benefit 
some  of  the  waifs  and  strays  connected  with  the 
noble  pastime  which  is  more  than  my  hobby,  which 
is  my  existence. 

SHATTOCK. 
Well  spoken ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

There  is  a  farm-house  of  mine  which  has  been 
vacant  for  a  long  time,  about  five  miles  from  here, 
at  Shodly  Heath — a  very  commodious,  well  built 
dwelling.  Perhaps  you  know  it  ? 

SHATTOCK. 

A  'ouse  painted  yaller  cream  color  ? 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

That's  it.  [Seeing  JERMYN  take  out  a  cigar,  SHAT- 
TOCK and  PEWS  simultaneously  produce  their  clay 
pipes."]  Now  my  notion  is  to  fit  and  furnish  this 
house  substantially  and  usefully,  and  to  endow  it  as 
a  Home  for  about  twenty  decayed  jockeys  and 
stablemen,  men  like  yourselves,  who  have  outlived 
their  chances  on  the  turf  and  fallen  on  bad  days. 
There,  Mr.  Shattock,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  11 

SHATTOCK. 

Tell  me,  mister — are  you  hentering  us  for  the 
temperance  stakes  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

How  dare  you  put  a  question  like  that?  Where's 
your  gratitude  for  the  bare  idea? 

SHATTOCK. 

I  was  a  thinkin'  of  Mr.  Pews— too  little  is  as  bad 
as  too  much  for  a  man  like  Edward  Pews. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

We'll  discuss  that  by  and  by.  The  point  is,  Mr. 
Shattock,  can  you  find  twenty  men  who  would  be 
willing  to  lead  honest,  sober,  decent  lives  ? 

SHATTOCK. 

Well,  off  hand  I  shouldn't  like  for  to  pledge  my- 
self to  sich  a  undertaking. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Men  with  some  good  sterling  qualities  in  them 
behind  all  their  faults  and  weaknesses. 

SHATTOCK. 

Well,  you  see  I  dessay  I've  rather  spoilt  you  by 
showing  you  me  and  Mr.  Pews  fust.  However,  you 
leave  this  'ere  to  me — and  if  there  is  on  the  face  of 
this  yer  earth  twenty  honest  broken-clown  sportsmen 
willing  for  to  be  kep'  free  and  liberal  I'll  bring  'em 
to  the  post  fit  and  fine. 


12  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JEEMYN. 

Thank  you — thank  you.  It's  a  grand  scheme !  I 
long  to  break  it  to  Mrs.  Jermyn — if  she  takes  to  it 
why,  ha,  ha  !  who  knows,  we  may  see  her  at  Ascot 
yet! 

[PINCHING,  a  pleasant  but  rather  weak-looking  young 
man,  in  riding  costume  comes  up  the  walk.] 

PINCHING. 
How  are  you,  Jermyn  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
My  dear  Pinching. 

PINCHING. 

I'm  behind  my  time — the  mare  lost  a  shoe,  so  I 
had  to  leave  her  at  Lessingham  and  walk  on.  Are 
these  gentlemen  two  of  your  Proteges  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[With  pride ]  Yes.  You're  smiling,  Pinching — 
don't,  my  boy,  don't !  I  can't  get  you  to  treat  this 
matter  with  professional  earnestness.  Er — um — 
Mr.  Shattock,  this  is  Mr.  Ealph  Pinching,  of  New- 
market— my  solicitor. 

[The  men  bow  uncomfortably.] 

PEWS. 
Oh,  crikey ! 

SHATTOCK. 
[Under  his  breath.]     'Ere's  a  element  to  creep  in. 


TEE  HOBBY-HORSE  13 

SPENCER  JEBMYN. 

Now,  my  men,  I  am  leaving  here  this  morning, 
almost  immediately,  and  it  is  possible  that  I  shall 
be  away  for  nearly  a  month.  But  during  my  ab- 
sence, Mr.  Shattock,  you  will  communicate  with  Mr. 
Pinching  as  if  he  were  myself — he  has  my  full  in- 
structions. [HEWETT  comes  from  the  house.]  Hew- 
ett,  don't  forget  I  go  to  town  by  the  twelve-fifteen. 
Put  Romper  in  the  cart. 

HEWETT. 
Yes,  sir. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

And  give  these  men  something  to  eat  and  drink. 

SHATTOCK. 
[To  HEWETT.]     Now  you've  got  to  show  us  in. 

HEWETT. 
Yes—  kitchen. 

SHATTOCK. 
Cad! 

[HEWETT  goes  toward  house  with  SHATTOCK  and 
PEWS.] 

PINCHING. 

And  now,  my  dear  Jermyn,  I've  something  really 
serious  to  talk  to  you  about. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Good  gracious,  Pinching  ;  serious  ! 


14:  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

PINCHING. 

Yes — you  shall  find  me  your  man  of  business  in 
real  earnest  for  a  few  moments. 

SPENCER  JEBMYN. 
Lord  bless  me,  Pinching,  you  don't  mean 

PINCHING. 

That  I  have  some  news  of  your  boy,  Allan  ?  Yes, 
I  think  so. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

My  boy !  my  boy !  Get  on,  sir  !  get  on  !  For 
heaven's  sake,  don't  go  to  sleep  about  it.  It  isn't  that 
I'm  in  a  hurry  to  hear  anything  of  that  scamp  of  a 
boy,  but  I  have  to  catch  the  twelve-fifteen — God 
bless  him  !  [PINCHING  produces  a  pocket-book.] 

PINCHING. 

Now  tell  me.  Jermyn — when  did  you  quarrel  and 
part  with  your  son  ?  I  particularly  want  dates. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Certainly — it   was  just   before   the  Middle  Park 

Plate 

PINCHING. 
No,  no,  please — legally,  that  is  not  a  perfect  date. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Well,  it  was  about  six  months  before  my  marriage 
to  Diana. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  15 

PINCHING. 

And  you  married  the  present  Mrs.  Jermyn  a  little 
over  a  year  ago  ;  come,  that's  better.  [Turning  over 
some  papers.]  Now,  about  the  time  this  quarrel  oc- 
curred, I  find  that  a  young  man  named  Thomas 
Clark  shipped  himself  on  board  the  steamship  Pen- 
guin, bound  for  the  Australian  ports,  as  a  common 
sailor. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Pooh !  On  the  wrong  scent — that  wouldn't  be 
my  boy  Allan. 

PINCHING. 

This  Thomas  Clark  left  some  clothes  behind  him 
at  a  lodging  in  the  East  of  London. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Allan  wouldn't  have  done  that — on  the  wrong 
scent,  sir. 

PINCHING. 

The  landlady  subsequently  sought  the  advice  of 
the  Police  as  to  her  right  to  dispose  of  this  property. 
It  was  ultimately  sold,  but  there  exists  a  memoran- 
dum on  the  Police  books  that  some  articles  of  ap- 
pavel  belonging  to  Mr.  Thomas  Clark  were  marked 
"A.  J." 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
That's  my  boy  ! 

PINCHING. 
I  fancied  it  might  be. 


16  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Fancy  !  There's  no  fancy  about  it !  You  surely 
haven't  let  the  matter  drop?  My  dear  Pinching, 
you  are  neglecting  this  business  altogether — I  could 
have  managed  it  better  myself.  It's  not  profes- 
sional ! 

PINCHING. 

Pray  be  calm,  Jermyn,  and  hear  me  out. 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Excuse  me,  Pinching.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you 
for  your  energy  in  this  affair.  Go  on. 

PINCHING. 

It  appears  that  the  boy  signed  articles  with  the 
owners  to  make  four  voyages  in  the  Penguin. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
And  did  he  ? 

PINCHING. 

Thomas  Clark  did — and  finally  discharged  himself 
at  the  East  India  Docks  about  a  month  ago. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
And  where  is  he  now  ? 

PINCHING. 
That  is  just  what  I  am  trying  to  find  out. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Trying  to  find  out !     Rubbish,  sir  ! 

PINCHING. 
What  I  mean  to  find  out,  if  I  can. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  17 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Taking  PINCHING'S  hand.]  Thank  you,  old  fellow  ; 
you  are  a  good  friend.  Bring  my  boy  back  to  me 
again,  Pinching,  for  two  reasons. 

PINCHING. 
Two  reasons  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Well,  in  the  first  place  Diana  has  never  seen  him 
— and  a  woman  ought  to  know  what  her  son  is  like. 
And,  secondly,  Pinching,  in  our  quarrel  the  boy  was 
right  and  I  was  wrong. 

PINCHING. 
Dear  me ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

It  was  a  serious  business.  He  fancied  Medusa  for 
the  Middle  Park  Plate  and  I  had  a  strong  liking  for 
King  Caraway.  But  he  said  that  King  Caraway 
wasn't  fit  to  run  without  a  respirator  and  that  irri- 
tated me,  Pinching,  and  we  had  hot  words  and  I 
saw  him  go  out  at  that  gate,  sir,  and  we  never  met 
again.  And  next  day  when  I  watched  the  racing  I 
was  still  so  indignant,  Pinching,  that  I  could  hardly 
steady  my  glasses.  But  the  boy  was  right,  God 
bless  him  !  And  I  want  to  tell  him  what  I  felt  when 
I  saw  that  confounded  King  Caraway  go  to  pieces 
at  the  Abingdon  Dip,  sir,  while  Medusa,  my  dear 
boy's  fancy,  romped  in  like  a  ballet-girl ! 

(Miss  MOXON,  a  prettily  dressed  young  lady,  appears 
in  the  porch.] 


18  TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

Miss  MOXON. 
Mr.  Pinching. 

PINCHING. 
Ob,  how  do  you  do,  Miss  Moxon  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

Mrs.  Jermyn  wants  to  know  if  you  have  break- 
fasted. 

PINCHING. 
Yes — thank  you. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Oh,  do  come  in  !  It  is  almost  my  last  hour  in 
Odium  House,  Mr.  Pinching — I'm  going  away  this 
morning  for  good. 

PINCHING. 

Going  away  !     No  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

[To  JEBMYN.]  Will  you  give  poor  unfortunate  me 
a  lift  to  the  station  to  catch  the  twelve-fifteen,  Mr. 
Jermyn  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I'm  sorry  to  assist  at  your  departure,  Miss  Moxon. 
However,  I'll  tell  Hewett  we'll  go  over  in  the  car- 
riage. 

[JERMYN  leaves  them,  and  directly  he  is  out  of 
sight  Miss  MOXON  runs  down  the  steps  and 
PINCHING  takes  her  hand.] 

PINCHING. 
Going  away,  Miss  Moxon  ! 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  19 

Miss  MOXON. 

Yes  ;  isn't  it  awful  ?  And  I  am  so  happy  here 
with  Diana.  I  feel  I  shall  never  be  happy  again, 
Mr.  Pinching — ne.ver,  never,  never. 

PINCHING. 
But  why  are  you  going  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 
[Silting.]     It  is  my  duty. 

PINCHING. 
[Silting  close  beside  her.  ]     Duty ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
Duty. 

[JERMYN  returns  quickly.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Oh,  by  the  bye,  Pinching —  [PINCHING  and 
Miss  MOXON  rise  guiltily.  All  three  are  embarrassed.] 

I  just  wanted  to  say — er — um [Looking  at  Miss 

MOXON.]     Excuse  me,  Pinching— won't  you? 

PINCHING. 
Certainly,  Jermyn. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Don't  tell  Mrs.  Jermyn  this  morning  of  our  dis- 
coveries about  my  boy  Allan. 

PINCHING. 
Certainly  not,  if  you  don't  wish  it. 


20  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

It  is  rather  a  sore  subject  between  us ;  Diana 
always  points  to  the  loss  of  my  boy  as  one  of 
the  evil  results  of  horse -racing,  and  as  I'm  just  go- 
ing to  divulge  my  scheme  for  the  Jockeys'  Home  at 
Shodley  Heath,  I  particularly  want  her  to  be  in  a 
good  temper  to-day.  That's  all,  Pinching.  [Look- 
ing at  Miss  MOXON.]  Excuse  my — my  awkwardness, 
won't  you  ?  Charming  woman,  Miss  Moxon.  Er — 
hem  !  I  shan't  see  you  again  for  five  minutes,  Pinch- 
ing. [JEBMYN  goes  into  the  house.'] 

Miss  MOXON. 

[Strolling  toward  PINCHING.]  Were  you  saying 
anything  to  me,  Mr.  Pinching,  when  dear  Mr.  Jer- 
m^n  came  back  ? 

PINCHING. 

Oh,  yes — why  is  it  specially  your  duty  to  run 
away  from  friends  who — who  like  you  so  well,  Miss 
Moxon  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

Why,  don't  you  know  that  I  am  a  very,  very  poor 
woman,  Mr.  Pinching ;  that  I  had  nothing-a-year 
settled  on  me  by  my  parents,  who  died  almost  be- 
fore I  was  born  ;  and  that  I  have  been  some  sort  of 
a  governess  ever  since  I  could  lisp,  and  shall  remain 
one  till  I  am  qualified  for  an  almshouse. 

PINCHING. 

No — I  only  know  that  you  were  a  schoolfellow  of 
Mrs.  Jermyn's,  and  that  you  have  been  a  guest  at 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  21 

Odium  House  for  the  last  three  weeks,  and  that — 

and  that 

Miss  MOXON. 
Yes? 

PINCHING. 

And  that  my  legal  visits  to  Mr.  Jermyn  have  lately 
been  very  protracted. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Thank  you !    You're  the  only  lawyer  I've  ever 
known — as  well  as  this. 

PINCHING. 

You  are  the  only  governess  I  have  ever  known  as 

well  as  this. 

Miss  MOXON. 

I  never  imagined  a  lawyer  was  so  young. 

PINCHING. 

Oh,  yes—it's  only  in  books  that  we  suffer  from 
chronic  old  age. 

Miss  MOXON. 

After  to-day,  when  I  am  far,  far  away  from  Odium 
House,  I  shall  always  think  pleasantly  of  a  lawyer. 

PINCHING. 
And  I  shall  always  think  pleasantly  of  a  governess. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Of  governesses  in  general,  do  you  mean — or  a 
governess  ? 


22  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

PINCHING. 
A  governess. 

Miss  MOXON. 

[Looking  away]  Then  do  you  know  any  other 
governess  ? 

PINCHING. 
No! 

Miss  MOXON. 
Oh! 

[MRS.  JEEMYN,  a  stately,  handsome  woman  of  about 
thirty,  appears  at  the  top  of  the  steps  leading  TINY 
LANDON  by  the  hand.~] 

MKS.  JERMYN. 

Won't  you  come  into  the  house,  Mr.  Pinching? 
Constance,  dear,  you  said  you  would  look  after  Mr. 
Pinching. 

Miss  MOXON. 

I  am  doing  so,  Diana. 

[Mp,s.  JERMYN  and  TINY  come  down  the  steps  as 
Miss  MOXON  and  PINCHING  ascend.] 

PINCHING. 

Thank  you,  Mrs.  Jermyn.  Am  I  too  old  to  com- 
pete with  this  young  gentleman  for  a  permanent  lo- 
cation at  Odium  House  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Ah,  Mr.  Pinching,  don't  you  be  unsympathetic.  I 
fear  my  husband's  indifference  is  contagious.  Go 
in,  please — I  am  looking  for  Mr.  Jermyn.  [Miss 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  23 

MOXON  and  PINCHING  go  into  the  house.  MRS. 
JEKMYN  goes  down  upon  her  knees  before  the  child, 
smoothing  his  hair  and  polishing  his  face  with  her 
handkerchief.]  There,  my  dear  little  fellow — the 
vision  of  you  ought  to  soften  any  man's  heart. 
Where  is  Spencer?  Ah,  Tiny — if  you  could  but 
realize  it — the  success  of  a  grand,  a  beautiful 
scheme  depends  upon  the  impression  you  make 
upon  Mr.  Jermyn. 

TINY  LANDON. 

[Trying  to  avoid  the  pocket-Jiandkerchief.]  Oh, 
don't ! 

[JEKMYN  enters  and  contemplates  MRS.  JERMYN  and  the 
child  with  annoyance.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

There's  one  of  those  beastly  little  boys.  Diana, 
my  darling,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  say  good-by 
very  soon. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

And  when  am  I  to  see  you  again,  Spencer  ? 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Hem  !  Well,  Diana,  as  you  know,  I  am  going  to 
Paris  to-night  for  the  Auteuil  Steeplechase. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  shall  remain  over  there  till  after  the  Grand  Prix. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Ugh! 


24:  TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JEBMYN. 

And  then,  my  dear,  I  suppose  I  had  better 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Return  home,  Spencer  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Well,  Diana,  I  was  about  to  say  that  I  had  better 
then — er — um — push  on  to  Ascot. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

And  have  you  been  as  precise  in  your  arrange- 
ments for  my  occupation,  Spencer? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Certainly — certainly— I  have  thought  a  great  deal 
about  that.  In  fact,  I — I — that  is — well,  my  dar- 
ling, I  understood  that  old  Mrs.  Hetherington  had 
been  pressing  about  your  staying  in  Hans  Place. 
It  is  the  London  season,  you  know. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

There  can  be  no  season  anywhere  for  a  wife  with- 
out her  husband. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

My  dear  Diana,  I  am  delighted  to  hear  you  say 
that.  I  do  leave  you  a  great  deal — I  am  always 
flying  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  It  is  wrong — it 
is  damnably  wrong  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Holding  her  hands  over  TINY'S  ears.]  Spencer, 
the  child  ! 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  25 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Ugh  !  I  beg  your  pardon,  Diana — but  confound 
that  ugly  child ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh,  no ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  repeat,  it  is  wrong  that  I  should  go  about  in 
this  way  alone.  Therefore  let  us  remedy  it. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Willingly. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Ah,  that's  right,  my  darling. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

But  I  fear,  Spencer,  that  you  overestimate  your 
powers  of  resolve  in  thinking  that  you  can  forego 
those  dreadful  race-meetings. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

My  dear  Diana,  I  don't  suggest  that.  I  was 
about  to  propose  that  you  accompany  me. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Spencer  !    Pray  respect  me  a  little  ! 

[TINY  sits  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  with  a  book.'] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Husbands  and  wives  are  seen  together  at  these 
places. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

What  grade  of  wife  ? 


26  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

What  grade  of  wife  !  Why,  the — the — the  or- 
dinary sort  of  married  wife. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Then  I  am  not  the  ordinary  sort  of  wife.  I  con- 
fess I  may  possess  one  faculty  less  than  other  wom- 
en— that  faculty  is  The  Stable,  the  Stable  in  all  its 
bearings  and  influences,  public  and  private. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Diana,  this  is  simple  prejudice ! 
MRS.  JERMYN. 

What  is  a  stable— your  own  stable,  for  which  you 
often  leave  me,  to  sit  hour  after  hour  smoking  pipes 
with  Hewett  and  Gibbs  and  the  boy  Dixon  ?  It  is 
the  least  comfortable  part  of  our  premises,  where 
common  men  are  always  shouting  "  Get  back,"  or 
"  Come  over,"  and  carrying  about  pails  of  water ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

It  isn't  the  stable,  Diana  —  it's  the  horses,  the 
noble,  intelligent  horses. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

The  only  use  you  find  for  them  is  to  drag  you  or 
carry  you  from  one  place  to  another. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Don't  they  do  it  well? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Certainly— then  let  it  end  there.     When  a  train 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  27 

does  the  same  thing  in  an  eighth  of  the  time  you 
don't  pat  the  steam-engine  and  smoke  pipes  with 
the  railway  directors.  And  then,  these  dreadful 
festivals  called  The  Races  —  the  races,  where  you 
put  the  very  animal  you  profess  to  respect  and  ad- 
mire to  a  speed  it  was  never  meant  to  attain,  and 
where  your  jockey  lashes  and  wounds  the  beast  he 
rides  because  the  poor  thing  is  too  fragile  to  "  make 
the  pace,"  or  too  intelligent  to  risk  breaking  a 
blood-vessel.  The  Races !  A  mere  Bacchanel  of 
vulgarity  and  depravity,  whose  vice  sinks  into  a 
man  until  his  very  tongue  becomes  furred  with  it 
and  he  can  speak  only  in  the  shibboleth  of  the  Bet- 
ting Ring. 

SPENCEK  JERMYN. 

My  dear,  Sport  is  the  natural  wear  of  man,  like 
his  coat  and  trousers — it  is  perfectly  becoming  that 
a  woman  should  not  adopt  the  one  or  the  other. 

MRS.   JERMYN. 
Spencer ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

The  instinct  of  Sport  is  born  in  us.  In  all  prob- 
ability Adam  had  a  gun  license — and  as  there  were 
horses  in  Eden  there  you  have  the  origin  of  Ascot. 
It  was  the  presence  of  Eve  which  made  it  a  ladies' 
meeting. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Hush,  Spencer — the  child  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Racing  is  my  hobby — my  weakness,  if  you  like. 


28  THE  HOBBY- HOUSE 

Bless  my  soul  and  body,  you  have  a  hobby  which  is 
a  weakness ! 

MBS.  JEBMYN. 

And  pray  what  is  that,  Spencer  ? 
SPENCER  JEBMYN. 

[Pointing  to  TINY.]  There's  an  animated  fraction 
of  it  over  there.  There  are  four  or  five  more  of 
them  stabled — I  beg  your  pardon,  Diana — domi- 
ciled in  our  house  at  this  moment.  I  don't  bring 
my  horses  indoors. 

MBS.  JEBMYN. 

A  few  local  orphans  happen  to  be  occupying  the 
nursery.  You  know — you  must  be  aware — that 
•we  have  no  other  use  for  the  nursery. 

SPENCER  JEBMYN. 

My  dear  Diana,  if  we  are  to  argue  let  us  argue  re- 
spectfully and  fairly ! 

MBS.  JEBMYN. 

I  admit,  Spencer,  that  I  am  absorbingly  interested 
in  little  boys.  To  wander  freely  through  the  courts 
and  alleys  of  the  most  wretched  districts  of  London, 
finding  small  human  treasures  amongst  the  flot- 
sam and  jetsam  of  the  great  metropolis,  is  the  fur- 
thermost ambition  my  mind  can  grasp.  [Coaxing- 
ly.]  Promise  me,  Spencer,  promise  me  that  when 
the  summer  is  gone  and  the  chill  misery  of  the  wet 
winter  is  upon  us,  that  you  will  spend  a  day  with 
me  in  Poplar? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  29 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
No,   Diana,   certainly   not  —  any   day   in    Bond 

Street 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Ob,  you  are  odious  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Our  own  parish  of  Over-Lessinghain  contains 
enough  poverty  to  satisfy  any  moderate  philanthro- 
pist ;  do  what  you  like  here. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Spencer  !  You  mean  that  ?  You  give  me  per- 
mission to  do  what  I  please  in  Lessingham  for  the 
welfare  of  our  poor  people  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Certainly,  my  darling — and  I  was  about  to  tell 
you  of  an  idea  of  mine  for  enlarging  your  scheme  of 
operations. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Oh,  you  dear  old  darling !  Sit  down  there  !  And 
I'll  sit  at  your  feet  as  I  used  to  before  we — before 

we 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Before  we  were  philanthropists. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Before  we  were  married.  And  I'll  give  you  back 
your  old  nick-name  of  "  Nettles." 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Thank  you,  Diana. 


30  TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

MRS.  JEEMYN. 

[Pinching  his  chin.]  Good-humored,  irritable, 
irritating  old  Nettles !  And  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
the  great  big  plan  I've  had  in  my  poor  anxious  head 
for  weeks,  and  weeks,  and  weeks. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Do,  my  darling — and  then  you  shall  hear  my 
proposition,  which  I  fancy 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Hush,  Nettles,  dear  ;  you  do  rattle  on  so. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  my  darling. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Nettles,  dear. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Affectionately.]     Yes,  Diana. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

I  don't  believe  we  shall  ever  get  a  tenant  for  that 
farm-house  at  Shodly  Heath. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Eh? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

It  has  been  vacant  so  long — why  should  we  not 
ourselves  turn  it  to  account. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Well  now,  that's  a  little  strange — the  same  notion 
had  already  struck  me. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  31 

MBS.  JERMYN. 

Oh,  you  dear  old  Nettles  !  I  know  !  Nettles  has 
been  having  what  he  calls  "a  good  time  of  it"  at 
that  awful  Epsom.  And  yet  I'm  not  angry  with 
him.  Well  then,  dear,  this  is  my  plan — the  chil- 
dren are  in  the  way  at  Odium  House — in  your  way, 
I  mean. 

SPENCEK  JERMYN. 

They  certainly  are. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

And  when  they  all  have  the  whooping  cough  it 
will  be  distressing  to  Nettle's  ear.  Now,  why 
shouldn't  we  furnish  the  Shodly  Heath  farm 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Diana ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Turn  Mrs.  Clegg,  our  old  housekeeper,  into  a 
sort  of  Matron,  and  make  the  farm-house  a  Refuge 
for  thirty  or  forty  of  my  little  waifs  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

My  dear  Diana,  to  a  very  great  extent  my  plan  is 
yours. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  had  already  determined  to  furnish  the  Farm  for 
benevolent  purposes 


32  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Tiny — Tiny  Landon  !     Come  here  ! 

\The    child  runs  across  to  her ;    she  wipes  his 
nose.] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Oh !  you  precious  little  charge  !  Tiny,  kiss  that 
gentleman,  and  make,  oh  !  so  much  of  him  ! 

[She  places  the  child  on  JERMYN'S  knee  ;  he  strug- 
gles and  throws  TINY  onto  the  grass."] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Diana,  you  will  not  let  me  explain.  I  certainly 
have  arranged  that  the  Farm  at  Shodly  shall  be  a 
Home  or  Refuge — but,  pardon  me,  Diana,  not,  not 
for  little  boys. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

What !     Not— for— little— boys  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
No,  Diana. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

For  little  girls? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
No,  Diana. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

For  whom  then  is  Shodly  to  be  a  shelter  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  thought  it  would  satisfy  and  delight  you,  Diana 
— twenty  decayed  jockeys. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  33 

MRS.  JERMYN. 


Oh! 


[SHATTOCK  and  PEWS  lounge  along  with  pipes  in  their 
mouths.] 

SHATTOCK. 
[To  PEWS.]     'Ats  off— the  duchess  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Are  these  two  of  them  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Samuel  Shattock — a  friend  of  his. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
They  are  indeed  decayed. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Diana,  remember  they  were — both  of  them — little 
boys  once. 

[PINCHING  and  Miss  MOXON,    talking  earnestly,  come 
out  of  the  house.'] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Angrily  to  SHATTOCK  and  PEWS.]  Do  try  to  make 
a  favorable  impression  upon  the  ladies,  please  ! 
Put  those  pipes  away. 

[They   touch  their  hats  and  tap  the  contents  of 
their  pipes  against  the  heels  of  their  boots.] 

Miss  MOXON. 

[Quietly  to  MRS.  JERMYN.]  Diana,  Tm  almost  a 
happy  woman. 


34:  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
I'm  quite  a  wretched  one. 

Miss  MOXON. 

I  really  think  Ralph  Pinching  is  in  love  with  me. 
[Miss   MOXON  walks  away  ecstatically,  PINCHING 
looking  after  her.\ 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Oh,  Pinching,  I  want  you  to  enter  into  my  scheme 
with  Mrs.  Jermyn.  [Quietly. ,]  Be  sanguine  about 
it.  [PINCHING  pays  no  attention.]  Pinching  ! 

PINCHING. 

Eh?  Oh,  yes.  [Taking  JERMYN'S  arm.']  Jermyn, 
Miss  Moxon's  father  was  a  captain  in  the  Fourteenth 
Lancers. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Yes,  yes,  my  boy.  [PINCHING  joins  Miss  MOXON 
and  begins  talking  earnestly.]  I  wish  to  goodness 
Pinching  would  be  more  professional !  Pinching, 
Pinching,  my  boy  !  Mrs.  Jermyn  wants  to  hear 
your  notions  about  the  Home. 

PINCHING. 

\_Carelessly. ,]     Eh  ?     Oh,  yes — great  fun. 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Pinching,  I'll  claim  your  attention  for  a  few 
minutes,  please. 

PINCHING. 

Certainly. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  35 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Pointing  to  a  rustic  table.']  There  are  pen,  ink, 
and  paper.  [PINCHING  whispers  to  Miss  MOXON,  then 
seats  himself  at  the  table.  She  takes  a  chair  by  his 
side  and  they  continue  talking.]  Diana,  pray  sit 
down. 

[As  she  is  about  to  sit  SHATTOCK  hurries  forward 
and  dusts  the  seat  with  his  handkerchief.] 

SHATTOCK. 

One  moment,  lady — there,  lady. 
MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Shrinking  from  him.]     Thank  you ! 

[SJie  sits  with  TINY  by  her  side.] 

SHATTOCK. 

The  more  I  look  at  you,  lady,  the  more  I  see  the 
likeness  to  my  poor  missus.  [Pointing  to  MRS. 
JERMYN.]  Do  you  catch  it,  Edward  ? 

PEWS. 
Striking — to  your  fust  missus. 

SHATTOCK. 
What  do  you  mean,  goin'  on  like  that  ? 

PEWS. 

I  mean  the  missus  you  had  when  I  fust  knew  you, 
Sam. 

SPENCER  JERMYX. 

Hush,  hush,  hush  !  Diana,  my  dear,  I  want  you 
to  understand — and  so  does  Mr.  Pinching.  [To 


36  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

PINCHING,  who  is  engaged  ivith  Miss  MOXON.]  Pinch- 
ing !  that  all  the  thoughtfulness,  all  the  charity  of 
this  notion  has  been  animated  by  your  beautiful, 
your  magnificent  example  in  dealing  with  little 
boys.  That  child  is  tearing  your  gown,  Diana  ; 
box  his  ears — box  his  ears  !  But,  Diana,  as  Pinch- 
ing aptly  reminds  us — Pinching,  please  ! — as  Pinch- 
ing reminds  us,  the  world  is  not  exclusively  peopled 
with  little  boys. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Is  it  peopled  with  anything  more  innocent,  more 
precious  than  little  boys  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Hem  !  No,  my  dear — but  you  oughtn't  to  con- 
centrate innocence  on  Shodly  Heath  ;  you  ought  to 
diffuse  it.  Now,  men  like  Mr.  Shattock — step  a 
little  forward,  Shattock  ;  my  wife  can't  see  you  well 
— men  like  Mr.  Shattock  are  victims  of  lost  oppor- 
tunities. 

SHATTOCK. 
True,  lady. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Shattock  was  once  a  jockey  of  considerable 
promise. 

SHATTOCK. 

I  was  brought  low,  lady,  by  being  got  at  by  the 
wealthy  and  unscrup'lous.  Whenever  I  had  a  good 
mount,  lady,  and  stood  a  chance  of  being  in  the  one- 
two-three,  I  was  always  got  at,  lady.  Examine  the 
knuckle  muscles  of  that  'and,  lady.  [MRS.  JERMYN 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  37 

shrinks  back.]     You  may  take  my  'and  in  yours,  lady. 
That  'and  is  developed  through  pullin' — pullin'  'ard. 

MKS.  JERMYN. 
What  do  you  mean,  man? 

SHATTOCK. 

Pullin'  a  'orse's  'ead  when  he  was  a'  doin'  too  well, 
lady — ridin'  for  to  lose.  Ah,  lady,  there's  many  a 
good  'orse  wot  Sam  Slmttock  has  rode  wot  had  tooth- 
ache in  his  back  teeth  for  years  followin'.  And  see 
the  hend  of  it !  Those  there  'orses  have  come  to 
cabs  and  me  to  a  'oine  on  Shodly  'Eath.  And  it's  a 
moral  lesson,  I  say,  and  proud  I  am  to  preach  it. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

You  see,  Diana,  we  have  found  some  good  here,  I 
venture  to  think. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

At  least  you  have  developed  an  extraordinary  talent 
for  discovery.  I  wonder  how  it  will  strike  Mr.  Pilk- 
ington,  the  vicar. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Oh,  I've  a  fine  plan  for  managing  Pilkington. 
MRS.  JERMYN. 

Have  you  ?  His  poor  wife  would  be  glad  to  know 
it. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  shall  conciliate  Pilkington  by  appointing  a  sal- 
aried warden. 


38  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Not  a  clergyman ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Certainly. 

PEWS. 

{To  himself. \  Oh,  crikey  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
A  young  liberal-minded  sporting  parson. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
[Impatiently]  Oh ! 

SHATTOCK. 

Here,  mister !  I  sha'n't  never  get  no  twenty  men 
to  the  post  if  a  parson's  going  to  hold  the  flag ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Silence !  I  have  never  met  so  much  senseless  op- 
position ! 

SHATTOCK. 

Here,  mister 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Shattock  and  Pews,  you  can  go ! 
SHATTOCK. 

[To  MRS.  JERMYN.]  Speak  for  us,  lady — don't  let 
'im  get  his  'ead  in  this  'ere.  Pull  'im,  lady,  pull  'im ! 
Oh !  here's  another  element  crep'  in ! 

[SHATTOCK  and  PEWS  take  their  leave] 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  39 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

One  would  think  I  was  a  little  boy— no,  by  Jove, 
I  should  be  better  treated  if  I  were.  Pinching  !  Mr. 
Pinching  !  Miss  Moxon,  please — really  ! 

PINCHING. 

[Snatching  up  a  pen  and  arranging  a  sheet  of  paper.] 
I'm  waiting  for  you,  Jermyn. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
The  advertisement  for  the  clerical  papers. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Ha  !  [She  sends  TINY  away.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
I  Dictating.]   "  Shodly  Heath  Home." 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Ha !  ha  !  ha  !     After  all  my  plans  ! 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Resuming.]  "  Opportunity  for  a  young  church- 
man in  sympathy  with  our  national  sports  and  pas- 
times." 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

There  is  no  such  man  in  existence ! 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Then  there  ought  to  be  !  "  The  founder  "—[Miss 
MOXON  and  PINCHING  are  talking  again.]  Pinching- — 
Miss  Moxon — upon  my  word,  I —  "  The  founder  de- 


40  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

sires  the  co-operation,  as  warden,  of  an  open-minded, 
unprejudiced " 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Ha  !  ha ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Pinching,  will  you  oblige  me  by  following  me 
into  the  house  with  your  papers.  Diana,  your  be- 
havior pains  and  vexes  me  ! 

[He  ascends  the  steps  and  disappears  through  the 
porch.  PINCHING  follows  with  the  writing  ma- 
terials.'] 

Miss  MOXON. 

[Following  PINCHING.]  Is  this  then  to  be  our 
good-by  ? 

PINCHING. 

I'm  very  sorry  to  have  to  run  away.  You  won't 
think  me  rude,  will  you  ?  Do  leave  your  address. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
[Returning.']     Mr.  Pinching  ! 

PINCHING. 

[To  Miss  MOXON.]     Excuse  me  ! 

[He  follows  JERMYN  hastily  into  the  house  J] 

Miss  MOXON. 

Leave  my  address  !  What  an  end  to  everything  ! 
Leave  my  address  !  It's  abominable  !  One  would 
think  Mr.  Jermyn  did  it  on  purpose  to  spoil  my 
prospects ! 


THE  HOBBY-B.UJ.WU  41 


MRS.  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Jermyn  would  do  anything  to  spoil  anybody's 
prospects  —  mine  particularly. 

Miss  MOXON. 

I  ask,  how  is  it  possible  for  a  woman  to  get  mar- 
ried? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Would  it  were  not  possible  !  A  woman's  only 
chance  of  happiness  is  in  remaining  single. 

Miss  MOXON. 

I  quite  agree  with  you  ;  but  I  shouldn't  mind 
being  wretched  with  Mr.  Pinching. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

I  can't  talk  to  you  about  Mr.  Pinching,  Constance  ; 
I  can't  talk  or  think  of  anything  but  the  blow  which 
has  fallen  upon.  me. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Don't  consider  me  unsympathetic,  Diana,  but 
I  can't  talk  to  you  about  your  blow.  To  think 
that  he  sat  upon  this  very  seat  and  with  the  words, 
"  Constance,  my  darling,"  in  his  heart  was  set  to 
draw  up  an  advertisement  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

To  think  that  this  is  the  end  of  all  my  dreams  for 
the  last  few  weeks,  day  and  night  !  This  is  the  end 
of  my  pleasant  picture  of  forty  babbling  babies  roll- 
ing upon  the  grass  at  Shodly,  filling  the  diamond 


42  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

casements  of  the  farm-house  with  their  fresh,  ruddy 
faces,  or  making  its  old  rooms  ring  with  the  rattle 
of  their  metal  spoons  !  Oh  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

At  the  very  moment  of  my  life  when  lam  not  get- 
ting younger  !  At  the  very  instant  I  am  starting  to 
London,  to  a  nasty  humiliating  situation  !  It's  not 
giving  him  a  chance,  poor  fellow ! 

MKS.  JERMYN. 
My  little  boys  !     My  poor  little  boys  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
But  this  is  a  grown-up  man ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Ah,  you  don't  worship  little  children. 
Miss  MOXON. 

I  could — I  want  to — but  not  so  much  other  peo- 
ple's. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

The  home  I  could  make  for  them  ! 
Miss  MOXON. 

The  home  I  could  make  for  him  !  [Sitting  distract- 
edly upon  the  steps.]  Oh,  let  people  come  and 
trample  on  me — I  don't  care. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Constance,  dear,  don't — Mr.  Pinching  may  write 
to  you. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  43 

Miss  MOXON. 

No — he's  a  lawyer.  He  naturally  wouldn't  com- 
mit his  views  to  paper. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Then  why  not  delay  your  journey  to  London  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

That's  impossible.  I  gave  my  word  a  month  ago 
that  I  would  go  to  Mr.  Brice  this  week  at  latest,  and 
to-day  is  the  last  day  of  the  week,  and  the  twelve- 
fifteen  is  the  only  train  to  get  me  there  by  tea-time. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Mr.  Brice  !     Who  and  what  is  Mr.  Brice  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

I've  never  seen  him  ;  he  is  the  curate  of  the  very 
poorest  parish  in  London — St.  Jacob's-in-the-East ; 
that's  all  I  know. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
[Ecstatically.}     The  poorest  parish  in  London  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

Mr.  Brice  has  met  with  some  accident  and  is  going 
away  for  a  holiday,  and  I  am  to  look  after  his  niece 
in  his  absence  and  help  with  the  horrid  district  vis- 
iting. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Help  with  the  horrid  district  visiting !  Oh,  how 
glorious  !  how  beautiful ! 


4:4:  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

Miss  MOXON. 
How  hateful !  how  odious ! 

« 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

To  3rou  comes  the  opportunity  that  is  denied  to 
me  and  you  despise  it.  St.  Jacob's-in-the-East ! 
The  East,  the  very  Mecca  of  the  pilgrimage  I  have 
dreamed  of  !  Oh,  if  I  could  but  be  in  your  place  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
Diana ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Well? 

Miss  MOXON. 

Diana !   Would  you  like  to  be  in  my  place  really  f 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Constance ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

This  Mr.  Brice  doesn't  know  me,  has  never  seen 
me.  I  answered  his  advertisement  in  the  Sera- 
phim when  I  was  in  London  and  he  didn't  even 
trouble  to  take  up  my  references.  He  expects  a 
Miss  Moxon  to-day  not  later  than  four  o'clock  ;  that's 
all.  If  you  desperately  wish  it,  why  shouldn't  you 
be  Miss  Moxon  for  two  or  three  weeks  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh  !  Mr.  Jermyn  would  never  allow  it. 

Miss  MOXON. 

He  will  not  be  here.  When  he  returns,  you  have 
been  visiting  :  there's  the  explanation. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  45 

MKS.  JEBMYN. 
The  children  in  the  nursery  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
Leave  me  to  look  after  the  little  darlings. 

MKS.  JEBMYN. 
Oh,  Connie,  I  dare  not  play  such  a  trick  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
Ah,  when  you  were  courting  I  helped  you ! 

MBS.  JEBMYN. 

Besides,  you  forget  everything  ;  how  can  I  travel 
to  town  in  the  train  with  Spencer  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

I  never  thought  of  that.  Oh,  Ralph,  Ealph,  why 
didn't  you  speak  when  you  had  the  opportunity  !  I 
know  !  Di !  I  can  get  you  to  town  by  the  twelve- 
fifteen. 

MBS.  JEBMYN. 

Be  quiet,  Constance.  Who  would  take  me  to  the 
station  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

Your  husband ! 

MBS.  JEEMYN. 

He  would  know  I'm  not  going  visiting  without 
any  luggage ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

He  shan't  know  you're  going  to  town  to-day  at  all. 


46  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

You're  quite  mad,  Constance. 
Miss  MOXON. 

Never  was  saner  in  my  life. 

[The  voices  of  JERMYN  and  PINCHING  are  heard 
within.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[In  the  house.]  Make  a  careful  copy  of  it,  Pinch- 
ing. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Your  husband  and  my  Pinching  !  Go  indoors 
and  wait  till  I  come. 

[PINCHING  and  JERMYN  come  from  the  house,  the  lat- 
ter dressed  for  travelling.] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[To  Miss  MOXON.]  Constance,  mind !  I  can't — I 
won't. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Good-by,  Diana !  I  feel  sure  you  will  have 
grown  to  like  my  plans  for  the  Shodly  Heath  Home 
by  the  time  I  get  back.  We — we  part  affectionately 
I  hope,  Diana  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Certainly,  Spencer. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Good-by,  dear! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Good-by  !  [ They  shake  hands.] 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  47 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[With  assumed  heartiness.]  Good-by,  my  darling  ! 
Don't  sit  in  any  draughts.  Good-by  ! 

[MRS.  JERMYN  turns  away.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

My  dear  Miss  Moxon,  you  will  never  be  ready  to 
drive  with  me  to  the  station. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Jermyn,  but  my  arrangements 
are  altered — Diana  has  persuaded  me  not  to  go  to- 
day. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[In  an  undertone.]     Constance  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
I'm  very  glad. 

Miss  MOXON. 

But  there  is  somebody  I  want  you  to  take  with 
you  to  the  station  ;  not  in  the  carriage,  of  course — 
let  her  ride  on  the  box  with  Gibbs.  Will  you  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Certainly.     Who  is  it  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

Poor  Mrs.  Landon,  who  is  obliged  to  go  to  Lon- 
don on  business. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Under  her  breath.]     Oh  ! 

[She  runs  into  the  house.] 


4:8  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JERMTN. 
Diana's  run  away  !     Ah  !  poor  Diana. 

Miss  MOXON. 
I'll  go  after  her. 

[She  follows  MRS.  JERMYN  into  the  house.] 

PINCHING. 

You'll  telegraph  to  me,  Jermyn,  from  time  to 
time  in  case  I  should  want  to  get  at  you  suddenly, 
won't  you? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Yes ;  but,  Pinching,  do  you  know  that  I've  half  a 
mind  to  let  the  Steeplechase  and  the  Grand  Prix  go 
to  the  devil  and  stop  at  home  ?  Diana — disap- 
pointed, poor  girl  ;  and  lonely,  eh,  Pinching  ? 

PINCHING. 

Well,  Miss  Moxon  remains  a  little  longer,  and 
then  there  are  the  children. 

SPENCER   JERMYN. 
That's  true.     Confound  those  children  ! 

[HEWETT   enters.] 

HEWETT. 
Gibbs  has  taken  the  carriage  round,  sir. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

All  right.  Tell  them  I'm  waiting.  [HEWETT 
goes  into  the  house.]  Goocl-by,  Pinching.  It 
doesn't  strike  you  that  I  am  a  bad  husband  to 
Diana,  does  it  ?  A  brute — does  it,  Pinching,  eh  ? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  49 

PINCHING. 
My  dear  Jermyn  !     Don't  think  of  such  a  thing. 

SPENCER   JERMYN. 
Poor  Diana. 

[HEWETT  comes  out  of  the  house  carrying  a  travelling 
bag  and  rug.'] 

HEWETT. 

Have  to  look  sharp  to  catch  the  twelve-fifteen,  sir. 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Of  course — of  course.  Where  is  that  Mrs.  Lan- 
don  ?  Mrs.  Landon  !  Mrs.  Landon  ! 

[Miss  MOXON  enters  from  the  house,  followed  by  MRS. 
JERMYN  in  MRS.  LANDON'S  black;  shawl  and  bonnet 
and  veil.] 

SPENCER   JERMYN. 

[Testily.]  Come  along,  Mrs.  Landon,  come  along. 

[Turning   to  PINCHING.]     Remember,    Pinching 

[He  speaks  in  an  undertone  to  PINCHING.] 

Miss   MOXON. 

[To  MRS.  JERMYN,  giving  her  an  envelope.]  The  Rev- 
erend Noel  Brice,  Number  Eight  Pelican  Place,  Great 
Raggatt  Street,  East.  I'll  send  your  luggage  off  to- 
night. 

MRS.    JERMYN. 
Oh! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

But  where's  Diana  ?  Surely  she'll  walk  with  me 
to  the  gate  ? 


50  THE  HOBBJ-HORSE 

Miss  MOXON. 

Oh— I— she 

SPENCEE  JEKMYN. 

I  won't  leave  her  like  this.     Confound  the  train  ! 
I'll  go  back  and  kiss  her  ! 

Miss   MOXON. 

Ah  !     Mr.  Jermyn,  she's  in  the  nursery  with  the 
boys. 

SPENCER   JERMYN. 

Oh,  the  deuce  !     Say  I  left  my  love.     Look  sharp, 
Hewett ! 

[JERMYN  goes  away,  followed  by  HEWETT,  MRS. 
JERMYN  hurrying  afterward.  PINCHING  detains 
Miss  MOXON.  ] 

PINCHING. 

Miss  Moxon,  I  shall  be  here — on  business — to- 
morrow at  eleven  o'clock.     May  I  see  you  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

[About  to  follow  MRS.  JERMYN.]     Oh,  indeed  you 
may,  Mr.  Pinching. 

PINCHING. 

I  wish  to  ask  you  a  question  which  concerns  my 
happiness.     I — I—          What's  the  matter  ? 

[Miss  MOXON  gives  a  slight  scream  and  waves  her 
hands  toward  the  house  as  if  to  keep  someone 
from  coming  out.~\ 


TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

Miss  MOXON. 
No,  no — not  yet ! 

[Mas.  LANDON,  without  a  bonnet  or  shawl,  runs  from 
the  house  looking  about  her] 

PINCHING. 
Mrs.  Landon ! 

MRS.  LANDON. 

Where's  my  boy  ?  I  cau:t  find  my  Tiny  any- 
where. [She  hurries  away.~\ 

PINCHING. 

Good  gracious !  Isn't  that  Widow  Landon  ? 
Why,  Jermyn  thinks  she's  riding  on  the  box-seat. 
Jermyn  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

[Obstructing  his  way.]  No,  no,  Mr.  Pinching; 
don't,  don't ! 

PINCHING. 

[Trying  to  pass  her.]  Excuse  me,  Miss  Moxon  ; 
Jermyn  ought  to  know  of  this  !  Jermyn  ! 

\He  passes  Miss  MOXON  ;  she  clings  to  him] 

Miss  MOXON. 
No,  no,  Mr.  Pinching  !     I — I'll  tell  you  something. 

PINCHING. 
I'll  be  back  in  a  moment. 


52  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

Miss  MOXON. 

No,  you  mustn't!     What  shall  I  do?    Mr.  Pinch- 
ing !     I — I — I  love  you,  Mr.  Pinching  ! 

PINCHING. 

Oh,  my  dear  Miss  Moxon  ! 

[They  sit  co&ily  together  on  the  garden  seat.'] 


END   OF    THE   FIRST    ACT. 


THE  SECOND  ACT. 

A   CHAPTER    OF    SENTIMENT. 

The  scene  is  two  rather  commonly  furnished  sitting- 
rooms,  separated  by  folding-doors,  in  a  dull,  som- 
bre lodging-house  in  the  East  End  of  London. 
Through  the  back  windows  is  seen  a  large  gloomy 
church.  It  is  the  dwelling-place  of  the  EEV.  NOEL 
BRICE. 

The  EEV.  NOEL  BRICE,  a  pale,  careworn-looking  young 
man,  is  writing  at  a  table,  with  his  wrist  bound  up, 
while  his  niece,  BERTHA,  a  pretty  girl  of  about  six- 
teen, is  seen  through  the  folding-doors  making  tea 
in  the  further  room. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[As  he  writes.]  "  Now  the  question  you  must  ask 
yourselves  is,  What  is  philanthropy?  Because  if 
it  be  not  a  mere  nickname  for  some  crazy  idiosyn- 
crasy of  the  rich  there  is  no  reason  why  you  poor 
people  should  not  be  true  philanthropists."  [He  leans 
back  wearily.]  How  this  wretched  wrist  throbs,  to 
be  sure. 

[BERTHA  comes  from  the  further  room.] 


54:  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

BEKTHA. 

Uncle  Noel,  isn't  Tom — isn't  Mr.  Clark  coming 
down-stairs  to  drink  tea  with  us  this  evening  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Resuming  writing.]  I  don't  know,  Bertha,  dear. 
We  can't  expect  the  boy  to  be  always  gossiping  here. 

BERTHA. 

[To  herself.]  But  he  said  my  tea  was  the  best  in 
the  world.  It  doesn't  sound  like  a  thing  a  man  would 
say  if  he  didn't  mean  it. 

BERTHA. 
How  many  sermons  for  Sunday,  Uncle  Noel  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Two.     Dr.  Porch er  is  too  unwell  to  preach. 

BERTHA. 
Which  are  you  working  at  now  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
The  second. 

BERTHA. 

Oh,  then  you're  nearly  finished. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

No,  dear — I  always  begin  with  the  second. 
BERTHA. 

Kest  your  hand  a  little  while  and  let  me  be  your 
amanuensis. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  55 

NOEL  BRICE. 

No,  thank  you,  ladybird,  I'll  wait  till  Miss  Moxon 
comes  in. 

BERTHA. 

[To  herself.']  He  never  lets  me  help  him,  and  I'm 
his  niece.  Why  does  he  like  dictating  to  Miss  Moxon 
and  not  to  me  ?  He  has  only  known  her  about  nine 
or  ten  days  and  she  is  no  relation  at  all. 

[MRS.  JERMYN  enters  in  walking  costume.] 

BERTHA. 
Here's  Miss  Moxon,  NoeL 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Kissing  BERTHA.]  Have  I  been  out  a  very  long 
time  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

It  seems  so.  Where  have  you  been  doing  good 
this  afternoon  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Nowhere.  I  have  been  attempting  to  visit  Tyke's 
Court. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Not  alone  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

No.  I  met  the  young  gentleman  who  lodges  up- 
stairs, Mr.  Clark,  and  he  went  with  me. 

BERTHA.  ' 
[To  herself.]    My  Tom.      . 


56  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

NOEL  BRICE. 
And  what  is  your  opinion  of  Tyke's  Court  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

It  is  an  unsavory  locality,  which  will  see  me  no 
more.  I  cry  beaten,  Mr.  Brice — I  have  failed  again 
to-day. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Failed — in  what,  Miss  Moxon  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Failed  to  come  up  to  my  own  aspirations.  For 
days  and  days  I  have  peered  in  at  the  opening  of 
Tyke's  Court  and  felt  it  my  duty  to  tread  a  path 
through  its  decomposed  cabbage-leaves.  I  have 
made  innumerable  cowardly  excuses — one  day  I 
have  not  felt  well  ;  another,  I  had  left  my  camphor 
at  home,  and  so  on.  This  afternoon  I  plunged. 
Oh  !  the  horror  of  it !  "  Are  you  going  to  faint  ?  " 
Mr.  Clark  asked  me.  "I  think  so,"  I  whispered  ; 
"  get  me  out — only  get  me  out !  "  He  got  me  out, 
and  I  sat  down  in  a  chemist's. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Ah,  visiting  Tyke's  Court  is  man's  work. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

No,  not  even  man's  work.  Tyke's  Court  ought  to 
be  visited  and  consoled  by  machinery.  Oh,  the 
men  and  the  women !  I  don't  know  which  were 
which,  but  Mr.  Clark  assures  me  I  saw  both. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  57 

BERTHA. 

Didn't  you  discover  any  children  ? 
MRS.  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Clark  said  I  did.  There  were  some  objects 
smaller  than  others — those,  I  understand,  were  the 
children. 

BERTHA. 

When*  you  first  came  to  us,  Miss  Moxon,  you 
were  going  to  fondle  all  the  little  ones  in  our  parish. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Oh,  so  I  would !  So  I  would,  to-morrow — now — 
if  somebody  would  only  wash  them  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Writing  again.]  Ah,  we  shall  get  them  washed 
in  time. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

In  time  !  [To  herself.']  And  I'm  going  home  in  a 
few  days. 

BERTHA. 

There's  a  letter  for  you,  Miss  Moxon,  on  the 
mantelpiece. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Rising  and  taking  the  letter.']     Oh,  thank  you. 
BERTHA. 

[Quietly  to  her]  Did  Mr.  Clark  happen  to  say 
he  was  coming  down  stairs  this  evening — to  see 
Uncle  Noel  ? 


58  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Yes,'  he  is  coming —  [Kissing  her.']  to  see  Uncle 
Noel. 

[BERTHA  runs  into  the  further  room  and  goes  out. 
MRS.  JERMYN  opens  her  letter. ] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[To  herself.]  From  Constance  !  Her  letters  make 
me  tremble.  [Reading.]  "  Dear  Di.  I  grow  more 
horribly  nervous  about  our  escapade  every  day.  I 
get  absolutely  no  consolation  from  Mr.  Pinching. 
Of  course,  after  his  discovery  of  Mrs.  Landon,  I  was 
forced  to  admit  that  you  had  gone  away  on  a  Philan- 
thropic Mission  ;  but  I  refused  to  disclose  your 
whereabouts,  and  his  kisses  are  but  on  the  brow." 
Poor  Constance  ;  for  my  sake  !  "  The  servants  gos- 
siped so  at  your  sudden  disappearance  that  I  thought 
it  best  to  tip  them  lavishly  all  round — therefore, 
Mrs.  Clegg,  the  housekeeper,  has  your  new  Indian 
shawl.  No  news  of  Mr.  Jermyn  beyond  the  Paris 
letter  which  I  sent  you,  but  Mr.  Pinching  went  to 
London  yesterday,  and  I  can't  get  rid  of  the  impres- 
sion that  he  has  an  appointment  with  your  hus- 
band in  town."  Oh  !  how  near  ;  perhaps  this  very 
day,  too  !  "  Now,  if  Mr.  Jermyn  should  return  here 
prematurely  what  am  I  to  say  ?  I  think  I  shall  feign 
madness  and  babble  incoherently.  Dear  Diana,  do 
come  home !  The  blot  which  follows  is  a  tear. 
Your  engagement— I  mean  my  engagement — I  mean 
our  engagement  with  Mr.  Brice  was  merely  as  com- 
panion to  his  niece  during  his  holiday.  When  do 
you  expect  him  back?  "  [Looking at  NOEL.]  When 
do  I  expect  him  back  ?  He  won't  start,  poor  fel- 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  59 

low  !  "  Get  him  home  by  all  means  ;  no  man,  no 
curate  at  any  rate,  ever  needs  more  than  ten  days' 
rest,  and  you  have  been  absent  that  time  from  your 
distracted — Constance  Moxon.  P.S. — I  pulled  a  gray 
hair  from  my  head  this  morning.  N.B. — About 
a  dozen  awful  men  have  taken  up  their  abode  at 
Shodly  Heath  Farm.  We  close  all  our  shutters 
now."  [Putting  the  letter  in  her  pockel^\  Oh,  yes,  I 
must  extricate  myself  from  this  predicament  to-mor- 
row— the  next  day,  at  latest.  What  should  keep 
me  at  St.  Jacob's  when  I  have  failed  so  miserably  in 
the  work  I  thought  my  true  mission  ?  [BERTHA  re- 
turns to  the  inner  room  and  busies  herself  with  the 
tea-things.]  But  why  hasn't  Mr.  Brice  gone  for  his 
holiday  ?  I  can't  make  that  out  at  all.  [NOEL  is 
thinking,  pen  in  hand  ;  she  approaches  the  writing- 
table.']  Mr.  Brice. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
[Starting.]     Miss  Moxon. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Brice,  have  you  forgotten  why  you  engaged 
me — er — why  you  engaged  a  companion  for  your 
niece  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

No— let  me  see.  I  wanted  a  lady  to  do  some  of 
the  easy  visiting  and  to  keep  Bertha  company  while 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

While  you  were  absent  from  London  on  your 
holiday. 


60  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

NOEL  BEICE. 
Oh,  yes — I  was  going  away,  wasn't  I  ? 

MBS.  JERMYN. 
You  were — and  aren't  you  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Not  now — I've  changed  my  mind. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Changed  your  mind ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

The  fact  is,  the  rector  and  I  don't  agree  very 
well,  or,  rather,  Mrs.  Porcher,  his  wife,  doesn't  like 
me — and  Mrs.  Porcher  is  the  rector,  and  both  the 
churchwardens  of  St.  Jacob's.  She  was  very  angry 
at  the  idea  of  my  wanting  rest,  and  besides  —  be- 
sides, when  you  came  I  felt  as  if  I  no  longer  needed 
a  holiday. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Brice,  I  want  to  ask  you  now  to 
let  me — to  let  me — go. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Let  you  go  !  Let  you  leave  us,  Miss  Moxon  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
To-morrow. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
So  soon ! 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  61 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Or  next  day.  Your  niece  no  longer  needs  a  com- 
panion, and  I  have  failed  wretchedly  in  my  visiting, 
and — and  I  have  other  reasons. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
I  am  very  sorry. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Thank  you.  Dear  Bertha  will  miss  me. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Miss  you  !  Ah,  so  much. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

And  it  is  concerning  Bertha  that  I  want  to  leave  a 
little  warning  behind  me.  Mr.  Brice,  who  and  what 
is  this  Mr.  Clark  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

You  don't  dislike  him  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh,  I  like  him  very  much. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

So  do  I,  and  that's  nearly  all  I  know — that  I  like 
him.  You  see  this  sprained  wrist  ?  Well,  that 
might  have  taken  the  form  of  a  broken  head  or  a 
broken  back  but  for  Tom  Clark. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
A  hero  ! 


62  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

NOEL  BKICE. 

No,  a  typical  English  lad.  I  interfered  one  night 
in  a  drunken  riot  down  below  here,  near  the  docks. 
Clark  came  to  my  aid  and  we  fought  our  way  out  of 
it,  back  to  back.  He  had  just  come  ashore  from  a 
voyage — he's  a  sailor,  you  know — so  I  got  him  a 
lodging  upstairs,  in  this  house — and  we're  friends. 
That's  Tom  Clark. 

MKS.  JERMYN. 

Thank  you,  Mr.  Brice.  Now  don't  you  think  you 
had  better  find  out  something  more  about  the  boy 
as  soon  as  possible  ? 

NOEL  BEIGE. 
Why? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Why,  in  case  he  should  fall  in  love  with  Bertha. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Fall  in  love ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Don't  men  fall  in  love,  Mr.  Brice  ? 
NOEL  BRICE. 

[Looking  at  her  earnestly .]  I  beg  your  pardon — 
yes,  indeed.  [There  is  a  knock  at  the  door.] 

TOM  CLARK. 

[Speaking  outside.]  Will  somebody  open  the 
door? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  63 

NOEL  BRICE. 

There  is  the  boy.  [Opening  the  door  to  admit 
TOM  CLARK,  a  bright  young  fellow  of  about  twenty, 
with  a  breezy,  impulsive  manner,  who  carries  a  large 
card-board  box.]  What  have  you  got  there,  Tom  ? 

TOM  CLARK. 

i  don't  know — dynamite,  I  think.  The  carrier  left 
it  at  the  door  as  I  came  down.  [To  MRS.  JERMYN.]  I 
hope  you're  better. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Very  much,  thank  you. 

TOM  CLARK. 
Oh,  Miss  Moxon  was  such  fun  at  the  chemist's. 

BERTHA. 
[Coming  from  the  other  room.]     A  box  ! 

TOM  CLARK. 

Addressed  to  "The  Curate  of  St.  Jacob's-in-the- 
East." 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Some  response  to  our  appeal  for  the  poor  chil- 
dren, I  expect. 

BERTHA  and  MRS.  JERMYN. 
[Delighted.]     Oh ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Open  it  for  them,  Tom. 

[He  goes  into  the  further  room  and  takes  up  a 
newspaper.  TOM  ivorries  at  the  string  of  the 
box,  while  the  two  women  look  on  eagerly] 


64:  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

TOM  CLARK. 
I  wonder  what  is  inside — guess. 

BEKTHA. 
I  know — little  white  frocks. 

MRS.  JEEMYN. 

No,  Bertha,  surely  not — brown  frocks  with  small 
holland  aprons  are  more  serviceable. 

TOM  CLARK. 
It's  very  securely  done  up. 

BERTHA. 
If  it's  frocks,  there  must  be  at  least  twenty. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

It  must  be  frocks ;  the  appeal  was  so  piteously 
worded. 

BERTHA. 
Make  haste,  Tom— it  might  be  boots. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Of  course  it  is — it's  boots  ! 

BERTHA. 
That's  it— it's  boots  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN  and  BERTHA. 
Boots,  boots,  boots ! 

TOM  CLARK. 
[Hot  with  his  exertion.]  That's  it ! 

[He  takes  the  lid  from  the  box  and  puts  his  hand 
inside.] 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  65 

BERTHA. 
What  is  it,  Tom  ?    It  isn't  frocka 

MRS.  JERMYN.  i'** 

Nor  boots. 

TOM  CLARK. 

Here's  a  list  on  the  top.  [Producing  an  open  sheet 
of  note-paper.  \  A  gold  crest! 

MRS.  JERMYN  and  BERTHA. 
Oh! 

TOM  CLARK. 

[Reading.]   "  Portman   Square.    Mrs.  Horace  W. 
Pigott-Blundell,  in  response  to  the  affecting  appeal 
in  to-day's  paper,  has  pleasure  in  forwarding  to  the 
curate   of    St.   Jacob's-in-the-East,   for   distribution 
among  the  deserving,  thirty  numbers  of  the  Illus- 
trated London  News."     [He  throws  the  letter  into  the 
box  and  bangs  the  lid  on  it  in  disgust,  saying  to  him- 
self.]  And  I  paid  one  and  eightpence  for  the  carriage  ! 
[He  carries  the  box  into  the  further  room,  fol- 
lowed by  BERTHA.] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Sitting  at  the  writing -table.]  Mr.  Brice's  sermon. 
[Reading.]  "  What  is  philanthropy  ?  "  Ah,  what  is  it  ? 
Is  it  that  bundle  of  picture  papers,  or  Spencer's 
wretched  freak  at  Shodly,  or  my  foolish  deceit  in 
taking  Constance's  place  here  ?  Shall  I  ever  find  out  ? 

[ToM  comes  to  MRS.  JERMYN.] 

TOM  CLARK. 
Miss  Moxon,  are  you  inclined  to  help  a  fellow  ? 


66  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
What  f ellow,  Mr.  Clark  ? 

TOM  CLARK. 

Look  here!  I  like  you,  Miss  Moxon.  I  think 
you're  a  brick,  and  I  know  you  have  a  jolly  lot  of 
influence  with  Noel — Mr.  Brice. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
I! 

TOM  CLARK. 

Yes,  rather.  And  I  want  you  to  use  it  for  me  like 
a  dear  good  soul.  Will  you  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
How? 

TOM  CLARK. 

In  this  way.  [BERTHA  comes  from  the  further  room 
carrying  a  cup  of  tea  in  each  hand,  but  stops  short 
when  she  hears  her  name  mentioned.']  I'm  in  love 
with  Bertha  !  I  love  her  fearfully  !  Nobody  sus- 
pects it,  because  I'm  so  careful.  But  she's  going 
shopping  after  tea  and  I'm  to  escort  her — and  I  know 
she'll  take  my  arm. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
She  won't  if  you  don't  ask  her. 

TOM  CLARK. 

But  I  feel  I  shall  ask  her.  I  say  to  myself,  "  I 
love  Bertha,"  all  day  long — I  go  to  sleep  with  the 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  67 

words  on  my  tongue— I  wake  up  with  them  there — 

they're  there  now.     And  when  I  talk  to  her  as  we 

trudge  along  the  streets  together  I  shall  be  obliged 

to  open  my  mouth  and  out  they'll  roll — won't  they  ? 

[BERTHA  returns  solemnly  on  tiptoe  to  the  further 

room,  carrying  the  cups.~\ 

BERTHA. 
[In  a  whisper. ~\     I  won't  interrupt  them  just  now. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

It  seems  to  me  that  you  don't  want  much  assist- 
ance, Mr.  Clark. 

TOM  CLARK. 

But  I  shall,  to  get  Noel's  consent  to  our  marriage ; 
because  I  want  to  be  married  at  once. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh !     Would  next  week  do  ? 

TOM  CLARK. 

Yes,  next  week  would  do  very  well,  thank  you. 
As  far  as  I'm  concerned  I  could  wait  a  week  longer, 
but  I'm  not  selfish  altogether,  Miss  Moxon,  and  I'm 
burning  to  help  old  Noel. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
But  I  don't  see  how 

TOM  CLARK. 
Why,  Noel  is  awfully  poor,  driven  like  a  slave 


68  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

worked  to  death.     Ah,  you  don't  guess  what  a  fine 
chap  he  is. 

[ They  both  turn  to  look  into  the  further  room. 
BERTHA  is  talking  to  NOEL,  who  is  stroking  her 
hair  fondly.] 

TOM  CLARK. 
Poor  fellow ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Poor  fellow  ! 

TOM  CLARK. 

You  know,  when  his  brother  died  Noel  took  all 
the  children.  Bertha's  grown  up,  but  there  are 
three  very  small  ones  with  a  nurse.  And  he  gets  a 
hundred  and  twenty  a  year  from  old  Porcher. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh! 

TOM  CLARK. 

Too  much,  isn't  it  ?  Well  then,  when  I  marry  my 
Bertha  I  shall  get  him  out  of  the  grinding  grip  of 
old  Mrs.  Porcher  and  whip  him  off  into  the  country, 
where  he'll  pick  up  his  strength  in  a  jiffy.  See  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh,  are  you  very  well  off,  then  ? 

TOM  CLARK. 
Haven't  a  brass  button,  you  know. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Really,  Mr.  Clark ! 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  69 

TOM  CLARK. 

But  my  dear  old  father  is  rich.     He  and  I  quarrel 
awfully. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Well,  then,  how 


TOM  CLARK. 

Why,  the  moment  I  marry  I  write  and  break  it 
gently  to  the  dad—' '  Dear  Dad,  I'm  married.  Yours, 
et  cetera  !  "  See  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Perfectly.  That  couldn't  be  a  shock  to  him,  could 
it? 

TOM  CLARK. 

No.  Well,  then,  what's  the  result  ?  Dad  burning 
with  anxiety  to  see  my  wife — my  wife  !  Oh,  doesn't 
it  sound  jolly? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

It  sounds  pretty  well ! 

TOM  CLARK. 

I  take  her  home  !  I  can  picture  father  standing, 
glum  and  sulky,  at  the  gate!  "Who's  this?"  I 
can  hear  him  saying  it.  "  My  wife,  dad  !  "  "  Your 
wife  !  What,  that  pretty  little  fairy  !  I  like  your 
taste,  my  boy — come  in,  we  dine  at  seven."  See  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

You  seem  to  have  thought  out  everything  very 
carefully. 


70  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

TOM  CLAKK. 

Yes  ;  if  every  fellow  were  as  cautious  there  wouldn't 
be  so  many  injudicious  marriages. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[At  the  folding-doors.]  Tom,  why  don't  you  let 
Miss  Moxon  have  some  tea  ?  What  are  you  discuss- 
ing? 

BERTHA. 

[Pulling  NOEL  back.]  Oh,  uncle,  don't  disturb 
them  ! 

TOM  CLARK. 

Just  coming,  Noel.  [To  MRS.  JERMYN.]  Be  quick. 
I  see  you'll  help  a  fellow  ;  won't  you,  eh  ?  Won't 
you? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

.[To  herself.]  Would  this  be  philanthropy,  I 
wonder?  Bat,  my  dear  Mr.  Clark,  if  you  are  so 
certain  of  Bertha's  influence,  why  not  gain  your 
father's  consent  before  your  marriage  ? 

TOM  CLARK. 

Ho  !  ho  !  you  don't  know  my  dad  !  When  Bertha 
and  I  are  married  we'll  ask  you  down.  He's  great 
fun.  Besides,  I've  got  a  horrid  stepmother.  I 
know  the  kind  of  woman — thin,  pale  lady  with 
spectacles,  black  hair  falling  down  like  window-cur- 
tains over  her  forehead — awful. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
The  tea  is  quite  cold  ! 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  71 

BERTHA. 
[Talcing  him  away]     Oh,  no,  it  isn't — not  quite. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
I'm  coming. 

TOM  CLARK. 

[Seizing  her  hand  as  she  is  going  into  the  further 
room.]  Miss  Moxon !  Oh,  do  get  me  married 
quickly  !  Miss  Moxon  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Well,  well,  I'll  think  what  I  can  do. 

TOM  CLARK. 

Bless  you  for  that,  because  you  can  do  every- 
thing !  Ah,  you're  as  good  and  as  beautiful  in  your 
way  as  Bertha  is  in  hers,  and  whenever  a  man  falls 
in  love  with  you,  Miss  Moxon,  I  hope  he'll  worship 
you  as  I  worship  my  dear  girl ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh,  no  !     Please  don't  say  that ! 

[MRS.  JERMYN    goes  into  the  further  room  to  the  tea- 
table  as  BERTHA  with  her  hat  on  joins  TOM.] 

BERTHA. 

I'm  ready,  Mr.  Clark.  It  seems  selfish  of  me  to 
drag  you  out. 

TOM  CLARK. 

Not  at  all.     Are  we  going  far  ? 

BERTHA. 
No — only  just  round  the  corner,  to  a  hat-shop. 


72  T&E  HOBBY-HORSE 

TOM  CLARK. 
Oh,  don't  you  know  any  distant  hat-shop. 

BERTHA. 
Yes,  but  I  always  deal  at  this  particular  one. 

[NOEL  comes  from  the  other  room  reading  a  news- 
paper.] 

BERTHA. 

[At  the  door]  Good-by,  Uncle  Noel — I  sha'n't 
be  long. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Good-by,  dear. 

TOM  CLARK. 

[Softly]  Oh,  Bertha,  don't,  don't  say  you  won't 
be  long  ! 

BERTHA. 
Mr.  Clark! 

TOM  CLARK. 
If  you  only  knew — if  you  only  guessed 

BERTHA. 
Guessed  what? 

TOM  CLARK. 

How  much  I — how  much  I — want  you  to  give  the 
other  hat-shops  a  chance  ! 

[ToM  and  BERTHA  go  from  the  room] 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[To  himself]  Now.  Half  a  sermon  from  two 
leaves  one  and  a  half.  One  sermon  and  a  half  be- 
tween this  and  Sunday,  my  article  to  finish  for 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  73 

The  Seraphim,  a  Mothers'  Tea  on  Friday  night, 
two  dockyard  carpenters,  both  very  bad  characters, 
to  marry  to-morrow  morning.  [Silting  at  the  table.'] 
Come,  Brice,  my  good  fellow,  you  must  put  on  the 
steam. 

[MRS.  JEBMYN  approaches  him,  carrying  a  cup  of  tea.} 
MRS.  JERMYN. 

Am  I  not  to  write  for  you  this  evening,  Mr. 
Brice? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Thank  you,  Miss  Moxon,  my  wrist  is  good  for  an- 
other hour. 

[He  writes  busily,  she  stands  R.  c.  watching  him.] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[To  herself,  watching  NOEL.]  Poor  fellow — poor, 
generous,  warm-hearted  fellow  !  Tired  out,  domi- 
neered over  by  Mrs.  Porcher,  a  hundred  and  twenty 
a  year  eked  out  by  a  few  articles  for  The  Seraphim, 
and  four  orphan  children  to  feed  and  nurture.  Poor 
fellow ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Reading  from  sheet  of  his  sermon.]  "  It  is  true 
philanthropy  to  treat  all  mankind  alike — not  to  turn 
your  back  upon  any  object  because  it  does  not  be- 
long to  the  particular  class  you  have  made  it  your 
habit  or  your  boast  to  serve." 

\_He  resumes  ivriting.] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[To  herself.]  Surely  that  applies  to  me.  Oh,  if 
I  could  only  render  this  man  some  service ! 


74  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

Wouldn't  that  be  real  charity !    I've  never  done  any- 
thing half  as  good  as  that  would  be. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Dropping  his  pen  and  putting  his  hand  to  his 
wrist. '\  Hallo,  another  twinge  ! 

MBS.  JEBMYN. 

Now,  perhaps  you  will  resign  that  chair,  Mr. 
Brice. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Thank  you.     I  fear  I  must. 

[He  puts  her  in  his  place,  then  picks  up  the  news- 
paper and  glances  at  the  advertisements.] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[To  herself.]  What  could  I  do  for  him — what 
could  I  do  ?  I  can't  think.  Shall  we  begin  work, 
Mr.  Brice? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Without  looking  up  from  the  newspaper.]  Please. 
Good  gracious,  I've  never  read  anything  so  mon- 
strous !  Look  here  !  "  Shodly  Heath  Home  for 
Decayed  Jockeys ! " 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh! 

NOEL  BRTCE. 

[Beading]  "  Opportunity  for  a  Young  Church- 
man in  sympathy  with  our  National  Sports  and  Pas- 
times." Upon  my  word ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Perhaps  it  means — cricket. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  75 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Cricket!  [Resuming.]  "The  Founder  desires 
the  co-operation,  as  Warden,  of  an  open-minded, 
unprejudiced  Evangelist  who  detects  an  elevating 
tendency  in  Horse  Racing  and  who  is  prepared  to 
maintain  that  the  English  Race-meeting  is  both 
harmless  and  exhilarating."  Why  the  Founder 
ought  to  be  kicked  ! 

MRS.  JEKMYN. 
No,  he  oughtn't.     Why  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Why!  Look  here!  "Three  hundred  pounds  a 
year."  Three  hundred  pounds  a  year  !  "  Write  to 
Ralph  Pinching,  Solicitor,  High  Street,  Newmar- 
ket." There's  a  temptation,  a  gross  temptation,  to 
throw  before  poor  men — some  like  myself  with 
hungry  babies  to  feed !  Three  hundred  pounds  a 
year  !  The  country — the  crisp,  bracing  air — health 
— strength ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Delightful !     That's  it !     That's  it ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Three  hundred  pounds  a  year  !  No  more  anxiety ! 
Bertha  with  rosy  cheeks,  and  little  Teddy  and 
Blanche  and  the  baby 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Rolling  upon  the  grass  at  Shodly,  filling  the  dia- 
mond casements  of  the  farm-house  with  their  fresh, 


76  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

ruddy  faces,  or  making  its  old  rooms  ring  with  the 
rattle  of  their  metal  spoons !     Oh,  Mr.  Brice  ! 

NOEL  BEIGE. 

Why,  Miss  Moxon,  you  make  quite  a  pretty  pict- 
ure of  it. 

MBS.  JERMYN. 

I — oh,  yes — I — can  imagine  little  children  at  a 
place  like — what's  its  name  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Imagine  —  yes.  [Throwing  the  paper  from  him."] 
Ah,  but  it  is  wrong  even  to  imagine  it. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Then  you  won't — try — to  get  there ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

I !  My  dear  Miss  Moxon,  the  air  here  may  be  thick, 
murky,  unwholesome,  but  even  for  fresh  air  and  £300 
a  year  one  doesn't  sell  one's  convictions  to  this  in- 
fatuated worshipper  of  the  race-course. 

[He  begins  loading  his  pipe.'] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[To  herself.}  Poor  fellow  !  To  see  him  turning 
his  back  upon  money  and  comfort  for  the  sake  of 
his  conscience — oh,  it's  pitiful ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Lighting  his  pipe.]  I  suppose  that  Founder,  as 
he  calls  himself,  is  a  little  mad. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  T7 

MRS.  JEBMYN. 

I  really  don't  see  any  evidence  of  it,  Mr.  Brice. 
[Picking  up  the  paper  and  smoothing  it  out.]  And  I 
must  say  that  I  am  surprised,  surprised,  at  your 
bigoted  prejudice  against  horse-racing. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Prejudice,  Miss  Moxon  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Surely  anything  tending  to  develop  the  wonderful 
capacities  of  a  noble  and  intelligent  animal  like  the 

horse 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Oh,  yes,  I  admit  that's  very  interesting. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Certainly,  and  useful  ;  and  therefore  racing  is  and 
ought  to  be  the  characteristic  sport  of  all  English- 
men, including  the  clergy. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

What  is  called  Sport,  Miss  Moxon,  is  too  often 
mere  brutality. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Brutality  !     Was  Adam  brutal  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Adam  !     What  Adam  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
The  Adam.     Were  there  not  horses  in  Eden  ? 


78  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

NOEL  BEIGE. 
We're  taught  to  believe  so. 

MES.  JEEMYN. 

Then — there,  Mr.  Brice,  you  have  the  origin  of 
Ascot.  The  presence  of  Eve — no,  no,  she  wasn't 
there. 

NOEL  BEIGE. 

Ha,  ha  !  You  positively  overwhelm  me  with  the 
weight  of  your  theology. 

MES.  JEEMYN. 

Ah,  then,  won't  you  write  to  the  solicitor  at  New- 
market ?  For  the  sake  of  the  babies  —  the  ba- 
bies  

NOEL  BEIGE. 

My  dear  Miss  Moxon,  the  babies  would  grow  up 
bandy  and  crooked  if  I  professed  opinions  I  do  not 
hold. 

MES.  JEEMYN. 

[To  herself.]  How  is  it  possible  to  do  good  to 
such  an  obstinate  man  !  Mr.  Brice — Mr.  Brice. 

NOEL  BEIGE. 

You're  not  going  to  crush  me  with  Adam  again, 
are  you  ? 

MES.  JEEMYN. 

No.  But  won't  you  dictate  to  me  some  sort  of 
response  to  send  to  this  solicitor — to  please  me,  who 
am  so  fond  of  Bertha  ? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  79 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Of  course  I  will— if  you'll  allow  me  to  write  quite 
candidly. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Ah,  thank  you !  [Sitting  at  the  table  and  address- 
ing an  envelope  to  herself .]  If  he  would  write  a  half- 
and-half  sort  of  letter,  it  might  do.  And  then,  if  he 
were  appointed  Warden  of  Shodly,  and  came  to 
find  out  who  Miss  Moxon  really  was,  he  would  for- 
give me  all  my  deception,  and  perhaps-  learn  to  re- 
member me  as  an  angel  in  disguise.  An  angel  in 
disguise!  I  have  begun  by  disguising  my  hand. 
Mr.  Pinching  would  never  recognize  that.  [To 
NOEL.]  I've  addressed  the  envelope  very  neatly,  Mr. 
Brice.  Will  you  begin  now  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

H'm.  [Dictating,  his  back  turned  toward  her.'} 
«  Sir  ! " 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Dear  Sir  I  Dear  Sir! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
"Sir!" 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
[Writing.]  Oh! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

"  I  have  absolutely  no  sympathy  with  any  sport 
or  pastime  which  has  gambling  and  other  evil  pas- 
sions for  its  accompaniment." 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
[To  herself \  without  writing.]  Oh,  that  won't  do  ! 


80  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

NOEL  BRICE. 

"  Nor  do  I  perceive  any  feature  in  horse-racing 
tending*  to  the  elevation  or  ennoblement  of  the  mind 
of  man." 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[To  herself.}  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear!  What  an 
obstinate  man ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
"  Of  the  mind  of  man."    Have  you  got  that? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Y-yes,  Mr.  Brice. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

"  But  if  you  want  a  guardian  for  your  people  who 
will  strive  honestly  to  instruct,  to  guide,  and  to 
comfort  them,  I  will  accept  your  wardenship.  Your 
obedient  servant."  Blank.  How  does  that  read  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

C-c-capital — the  very  thing.  [To  herself.]  How 
is  it  possible  to  be  philanthropic  with  a  man  like 
this  ?  I  can  see  his  babies  all  getting  weak  and  bony, 

and Why  should  I  not  indite  my   own   sort 

of  letter — a  careful  half-and-half  sort  of  letter — and 
get  Bertha  to  coax  him  into  signing  it  in  the  morn- 
ing? I'll  try  it — it's  a  forlorn  hope.  [Looking 
toward  NOEL,  who  has  put  his  head  back  and  is  dozing, 
she  begins  writing.]  "  My  Dear  Sir :  I  have  read 
your  advertisement  in  The  Seraphim  " — that's  true  ; 
I  must  be  strictly  truthful — [Writing.]  "and  I  shall 
be  delighted" — [Looking  cautiously  'toward  NOEL, 
luho  makes  no  sign.]  "  delighted  to  accept  the  war- 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  81 

denship  of  your  much-needed  Home  "  —  [Looking 
up  frightened.]  That's  rather  truthful.  [WPnYm^r.] 
"your  much  needed  Home  for — for-  Disabled 
Horsemen."  The  poor  fellow  will  like  that  better 
than  Decayed  Jockeys.  [Writing.]  "It  would  be 
my  endeavor  to  reconcile  my  views  to  yours" — 
that's  just  the  same  thing  as  reconciling  Spencer's 
views  to  his,  of  course — "and  to  discharge  my  duties 
according  to  the  dictates  of  my  conscience."  Why, 
it's  his  own  letter — put  a  little  more  pleasantly. 
[Writing  J\  "Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  very  sincerely 
yours," — space  for  signature.  Oh,  I  wonder  if  he'll 
ever  see  it  in  the  proper  light !  Oh  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Rousing  himself.]  I  beg  your  pardon — I  was 
half  asleep. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Holding  the  letter  behind  her.]     W-were  you  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Well,  am  I  to  sign  the  letter  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
The  1-1-letter ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
About  the  Wardenship. 

MRS.  JERMYN.    , 

Oh,  that  letter  I  [Producing  it  awkwardly]  If 
you  are  alluding  to  that  letter — I — I  have  that  letter 
here. 


82  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

NOEL  BKICE. 

[Taking  the  letter  from  her,  and  sitting  at  the  table, 
he  selects  '  a  pen.]  Thank  you.  [Half  to  himself.] 
I'll  just  glance  through  it. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Oh  !  Mr.  Brice.  [Taking  the  letter  from  him  and 
laying  it  before  him  while  she  conceals  the  written  part 
with  her  hand.]  That's  where  you  sign — there  at  the 
bottom  of  the  page. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Yes,  but  I  was-  going  to  read  it  first. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

No,  no — afterward.  Then  you'll  see  how  it  looks 
all  together,  with  the  signature. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
I  thought  perhaps  it  was  rather  too  abrupt. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

No — it  doesn't  seem  so  very  abrupt. 

[He  tries  to  sign  his  name,  but  she  nervously 
moves  her  hands  over  the  letter  to  prevent  his 
seeing  its  contents.] 

NOEL  BRICE. 
I  beg  your  pardon — I  can't  write  if  you  do  that 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
I — I'm  trying  to  help  you. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  83 

NOEL  BRICE. 
[Signing  his  name.]     That's  it.     Now,  I'll 

MBS.  JERMYN. 

Oh,  no,  let  me — let  me  read  it.     It's  written  in 
such  an  odd  way.     Are  you  ready  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Quite. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Er — urn — you're  not  paying  attention,  Mr.  Brice. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Indeed  I  am. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

"My — dear " 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Eh? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
"  Sir ! " 

NOEL  BRICK 
Oh! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
"  I— I " 

[ToM  and  BERTHA  suddenly  enter.] 

BERTHA. 
Uncle  Noel ! 

TOM  CLARK. 

Look  out,  old  fellow  ! 

NOEL  BRICE, 
What's  the  matter  ? 


84  TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

BERTHA. 
She's  coming ! 

NOEL  BEIGE. 
She— who  ? 

BERTHA. 
Mrs.  Porcher. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Hush  !  Don't  be  frightened  !  Bring  her  in,  Tom. 
[TOM  hurries  out.]  Good  gracious!  what  mischief 
is  this  old  lady  bent  on  now  I 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[To  herself.]  Oh  !— the  letter!  [Folding  and 
closing  the  letter.]  Keady  for  the  post !  Oh  !  oh  ! 
I  wonder  if  I  have  done  quite  right  ? 

[ToM  introduces  MRS.  PORCHER,  a  grim  old  woman  in 
black  and  a  formidable  bonnet,  who  enters  with  a 
solemn  glare.] 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Come  in,  Mrs.  Porcher. 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

[Eying  MRS.  JERMYN  severely]  Is  this  the  Miss 
Markham  I  hear  of — the  lady  now  in  residence 
here? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

This  is  Miss  Moxon,  the  lady  who  is  kind  enough 
to  be  a  companion  to  my  niece.  [MRS.  JERMYN  bows 
slightly,  MRS.  PORCHER  coughs  asthmatically.]  Sit 
down,  Mrs.  Porcher. 

[MRS.  PORCHER  silently  enthrones  herself.] 


TEE  HOBBY-HORSE  85 

MRS.    PORCHER. 

A    footstool.   [BERTHA    and    TOM  fetch  footstool, 
which  NOEL  places  at  MRS.  PORCHER'S  feet.'}  This  is 
not  the  complimentary  hour  for  calling,  nor  is  this, 
I  regret  to  say,  in  any  sense  a  complimentary  visit. 
[BERTHA  and  TOM  retire  on  tiptoe  into  the  further 
room  and  close  the  folding-doors  softly.'] 

NOEL  BRICE. 
I  hope  at  least,  Mrs.  Porcher 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

Please.  But  for  the  performance  of  an  unpleas- 
ant duty  any  hour  seems  to  me  appropriate. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Pray  allow  me  to  leave  you. 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

Er — no.  I  think  it  would  be  better  if  Miss — Miss 
Moxon  would  pay  me  the  compliment  of  remaining. 
I  grieve — I  grieve  to  say  that  Miss  Moxon  is  un- 
pleasantly associated  with  the  object  of  my  visit. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

In  which  case  I  should  prefer  receiving  a  written 
communication  from  you,  Mrs.  Porcher. 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

I  think  not.  The  cold  formula  of  a  letter  is 
necessarily  frigid  and  repellent  ;  in  dealing  a  blow 
the  sympathetic  cadences  of  the  human  voice  are 
much  preferable.  Mr.  Brice,  Dr.  Porcher  has  dur- 
ing the  term  of  your  curacy  permitted  you  to  dis- 


86  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

charge  many,  if  not  all,  his  duties  in  addition  to 
your  own.     You  cannot  deny  it. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
It  is  certainly  the  case. 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

I  thank  you  for  the  frankness  of  that  admission. 
And  why  is  this  so  ?  For  eighteen  years  Dr.  Porcher 
has  not  slept  uninterruptedly  through  one  entire 
night.  My  cough,  commencing  regularly  at  sun- 
down, has  not  permitted  him  to  do  so.  That  cough 
being  now  chronic  I  can  hope  for  no  amelioration 
in  the  condition  of  Dr.  Porch  er.  In  the  meantime, 
Mr.  Brice,  he  is  dependent  on  the  faith,  the  enthusi- 
asm, the  integrity  of  his  curate. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

And  that  faith,  that  enthusiasm,  and  that  integ- 
rity he  has  always  had  from  me.  Do  you  call  it  into 
question  ? 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

Pardon  me.  Up  to  about  ten  days  ago — I  think 
that  is  the  time  when  Miss  Moxon  was  first  received 
into  your  house  ? — up  to  that  time,  I — man  and  wife 
being  one,  I  speak  as  Dr.  Porcher — I  had  but 
slight  cause  for  complaint. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Whether  you  speak  for  Dr.  Porcher,  or  for  your- 
self alone,  or  for  both  of  you,  I  beg  you  to  speak 
carefully. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  87 

MRS.    PORCHEB. 

I  am  not,  Mr.  Brice,  at  all  in  the  habit  of  trusting 
to  inspiration.  I  have  here  memoranda.  [Referring 
to  her  tablets.]  When  six  weeks  ago  you  suggested 
taking  a  short  holiday,  you  advertised  for  a  tempo- 
rary companion  for  your  niece—for  your  niece  !  Well, 
then,  Mr.  Brice,  in  due  course  this  lady  arrives  here, 
and  immediately  relieves  you  of  some  of  your  duties 
of  visiting — a  thing  which  I,  her  senior  if  I  mistake 
not,  would  hardly  have  presumed  to  do. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Well,  madam,  what  then  ? 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

Then,  Mr.  Brice,  one  would  conjecture  that  the 
time  had  arrived  for  you  to  leave  London. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

My  arrangements  became  altered.  I  had — rea- 
sons. 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

Quite  so.  I  feared  this — I  have  feared  this  trem- 
blingly. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

You  have  feared  what,  madam  ? 

MRS.  PORCHER. 
I  beg  your  pardon  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

You  have  associated  my  name  with  the  object  of 
your  visit  here.  I  want  to  know  what  your  fear  is 


88  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

in  connection  with  the  abandonment  of  Mr.  Brice's 
holiday. 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

H'm !  Certainly.  I  fear  that  Dr.  Porcher  will 
never  be  able  to  quite  satisfy  those  ladies  of  our 
parish  who  are  so  concerned  about  this  business,  that 
Mr.  Brice  did  not  relinquish  his  holiday  because 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Because  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[To  MRS.  JERMYN.]  Hush  !  [To  MRS.  PORCHER.] 
Please ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Because  ? 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

Because  Mr.  Brice  had  found  not  only  a  compan- 
ion for  his  niece,  but  a  companion  for 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[To  MRS.  PORCHER,  pointing  to  the  door.~]  Leave 
this  room ! 

MRS.  PORCHER. 
What! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Leave  this  room — my  house — leave  it !  When  can 
I  see  Dr.  Porcher  ?  It  must  be  soon — immediately. 

MRS.  PORCHER. 
I  speak  with  the  voice  of  Dr.  Porcher 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Ah,  don't  you  understand  what  I  mean?  That  I 
desire  to  wash  my  hands  of  you  all  without  a  mo- 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  89 

ment's  delay  !  Let  me  be  rid  of  you  !  Your  money 
has  mildewed  the  bread  with  which  I  feed  the  dear 
ones  who  are  dependent  upon  me,  long*  enough  ! 
Let  me  be  rid  of  you  ! 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

[Producing  a  letter.]  Anticipating  some  unseemly 
outburst  of  this  nature,  Mr.  Brice,  I  am  armed  with 
a  letter  from  Dr.  Porcher — written  reluctantly  at  my 
dictation— informing  you  that  Mr.  Charlesworth, 
your  dear  amiable  predecessor,  is  ready  to  take  your 
place  at  once. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Taking  the  letter.]  To-morrow.    Go,  please.    Go  ! 
[He  opens  the  folding-doors  and  calls  TOM.] 

MRS.  PORCHER. 

[To  MRS.  JERMYN,  who  is  standing  as  if  stricken,  with 
her  head  drooping.}  Pardon  me.  The  Christian 
name,  Coostance,  I  think  ?  [MRS.  JERMYN  looks  at 
MRS.  PORCHER  without  replying.']  Constance — I  re- 
member. 1  shall  feel  it  my  duty  to  report  the  name 
of  Constance  Moxon,  unfavorably,  to  the  Governesses' 
Institute. 

[TOM  opens  the  door,  MRS.  PORCHER  sails  out,  and 
he  follows  her.] 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Oh,  Miss  Moxon  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Hush !  Don't  speak  to  me,  please,  Mr.  Brice ! 
Don't,  don't  speak  to  me  ! 

[She  puts  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  ;  BERTHA 
ru-ns  to  her  side.] 


90  TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

BERTHA. 

What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?  Uncle  Noel,  has  Mrs. 
Porcher  made  Miss  Moxon  cry  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[To  MRS.  JERMYN.]  Only  say  that  you  can  pardon 
me  for  never  suspecting  that  this  woman's — that  any 
woman's  —  malice  could  go  to  such  a  monstrous 
length ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Softly  to  NOEL.]  Hush  !— Bertha.  Mrs.  Porcher 
is  very  angry,  Bertha,  because  your  uncle  has  not 
taken  his  holiday — so  terribly  angry.  Mr.  Brice, 
pray  don't  give  another  thought  to  my  share  in  the 
matter  —  never  let  it  cross  your  mind  again.  Oh, 
how  dare  she !  how  dare  she  ! 

BERTHA. 
But  why  are  you  crying  so,  dear  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

I— oh,  I  am  crying  a  little,  Bertha— because  I 
have  to  run  away  from  you  very  suddenly.  I  leave 
this  house  to-night — at  once.  [NOEL  starts.] 

BERTHA. 
To-night !    Not  for  good  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Yes — for  good.  I  am  of  no  use,  you  know — be- 
cause— because  your  uncle  has  not  gone  for  his  holi- 
day. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  91 

BERTHA. 

Oh,   why  don't  you  persuade  her  to  stay,  Uncle 

Noel? 

MBS.  JERMYN. 

Hush,  dear  !     Come  with  me. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Miss  Moxon ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Turning  to  NOEL.]  Don't— please — please  !  Oh, 
Mr.  Brice,  why,  why  couldn't  you  have  gone  for 
your  holiday  !  [She  goes  out  with  BERTHA.] 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Oh,  the  insult  to  her — and  under  my  roof  !  The 
insult  to  her !  The  insult  to  her  whose  smile  does 
more  to  brighten  this  parish  than  all  the  sun  that 
ever  finds  its  way  here  !  [Crushing  PORCHER'S  letter 
in  his  hand.]  My  formal  dismissal  from  Dr.  Porcher. 
He  shall  see  me  to-morrow.  I  need  not  curb  my 
tongue  to  him  in  defence  of  the  woman  I  love — oh, 
at  least  I  can  speak  the  words  to  myself — the  woman 
I  love  ! 

[ToM  enters.] 

TOM  CLARK. 
What  has  the  old  lady  done  now,  Noel  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
I'm  out  of  St.  Jacob's,  Tom. 

TOM  CLARK. 
Are  you,  Noel?    Then  so  am  I.     Mind,  you  don't 


92  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

shake  me  off — I'm  after  you  and  Bertha,  wherever 
you  go. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
But  I  haven't  told  you  the  worst  of  it,  my  boy. 

TOM  CLARK. 
Why,  what's  wrong  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

She  has  robbed  me  of — of  a  friend — a  friend  I 
can't  spare.  Her  bitter  tongue  is  driving  Miss 
Moxon  away  from  us  to-night,  and — and— ah,  Tom, 
you're  little  more  than  a  boy,  and  don't  understand, 
and  I  can't  tell  you  ! 

TOM  CLARK. 

Little  more  than  a  boy,  am  I !  Can't  understand, 
can't  I !  Why,  Noel,  I'm  in  love  too  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
What  do  you  mean  by  you're  in  love  too  f 

TOM  CLARK. 
I  mean  I  love  Bertha  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Tom  Clark ! 

TOM  CLARK. 

Why,  what  a  fool  I  should  be  if  I  didn't !  Ah, 
Noel,  love  gives  a  fellow  a  pair  of  spectacles,  which 
enables  him  to  see  right  through  another  fellow's 
waistcoat  and  straight  into  his  heart.  Ha,  ha ! 
Why,  old  chap,  I  guessed  it  a  week  ago ! 


THE  BOBBY-HORSE  93 

NOEL  BRICE. 

I  don't  know  what  you  mean !  A  week  ago ! 
Why,  Tom,  /didn't  know  it  then  ! 

TOM  CLARK. 

No,  but  the  man  himself  is  always  the  last  to  find 
it  out.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad,  old  chap  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Glad! 

TOM  CLARK. 

You  know  I  shouldn't  have  liked  you  to  marry 
anybody  I  didn't  quite  approve  of.  But  I  do  admire 
her — so  does  Bertha.  I  think  we're  both  to  be  con- 
gratulated, eh? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Be  quiet !  Don't  go  on  in  that  way,  Tom — I  can't 
bear  it !  She's  leaving  me — I  may  never  see  her 
again.  And  even  if  these  few  past  happy  days  could 
go  on  unbrokenly  for  years  to  come,  I  could  never 
open  my  lips  about  love.  Why,  man,  how  could  I  ? 

TOM  CLARK. 
How  could  you !     Oh,  I'll  tell  you  how. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Will  you  be  quiet,  Tom  !  You  know  I  haven't  a 
penny  in  the  world. 

TOM  CLARK. 

Well,  no  more  have  I — and  I  proposed  half  an 
hour  ago. 

[BERTHA  enters.] ' 


94:  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

BEBTHA. 

[Crying.]  Tom,  will  you  g-g-go  and  find  a  c-c-cab 
to  take  Miss  Moxon  away  ? 

TOM  CLARK. 

[  Whispering.  ]  Bertha,  dear,  let  us  look  for  it  to- 
gether. I  think  Noel  has  something  awfully  impor- 
tant to  tell  Miss  Moxon.  Hush  !  [Looking  at  NOEL.  ] 
Dear  old  Noel !  I  think  he's  a  lucky  chap  after  all. 

[ToM  and  BERTHA  go  quietly  out.     The  room  is  grow- 
ing gradually  darker.     MRS.  JERMYN  enters.] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Looking  about  her.]  Bertha!  Bertha!  \She 
sees  NOEL.  To  herself.]  Where  is  Bertha  ?  Poor 
fellow — I  didn't  want  to  say  good-by  to  him  alone. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Facing  her  suddenly]  You  are  going  away,  then 
— really  going  away  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Yes.     I — I  am  waiting  for  a  cab,  Mr.  Brice. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

The  thought  that  you  are  driven  away  from  us  in 
such  an  infamous  manner  is  maddening  to  me. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Oh,  you  mustn't  let  other  people's  ill-nature  hurt 
you  so  much.  As  for  myself,  I  was  going  to-morrow 
— a  few  hours  earlier,  what  can  it  matter  ? 


TEE  HOBBY-HORSE  95 

NOEL  BEIGE. 

No,  no,  that's  true  !  What  can  it  matter  ?  But  I 
— Bertha  and  I — were  rather  dull  and  lonely  here 
when  you  found  us,  and  somehow  you — as  a  new- 
comer often  will 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Oh,  yes — a  strange  face  does  break  the  monotony 
of  life,  doesn't  it  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Yes.  And  when  one  loses  that  face,  when  it  has 
ceased  to  be  a  strange  one  ;  when  one  enters  a  room 
thinking  to  see  a  familiar  form  in  that  corner  or  in 
that,  and  is  almost  startled  to  find  —  nothing  — 

then 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Then  one  is  pained,  naturally — for  a  day  or  two. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Yes,  I  mean — for  a  day  or  two. 

[He  turns  away  from  her  and  goes  to  the  win' 
dow.} 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Is  that  a  cab  at  our  door  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Yes.  [Re  goes  to  the  door  and  opens  it.] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
[To  herself.]     I  am  glad  the  time  has  come. 


96  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

NOEL  BRICK 

[To  himself.']  Some  people  asking  for  Tom. 
They  have  gone  upstairs  to  his  room. 

[He  closes  the  door.'] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Good-by,  then,  Mr.  Brice. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Taking  her  hand.']  Good-by.  Miss  Moxon,  will 
you,  as  the  parting  act  of  a  friend,  solve  a  problem 
which  arises  in  the  life  of  every  poor  man  and  which 
to-night  crosses  me  in  mine  V  You  know  how  poor 
I  am — how  prospectless,  saddled  with  cares,  almost 
without  worldly  hope.  But  I  have  never  despaired 
till  to-night — and  yet  till  to-night  I  have  not  been 
so  near  setting  foot  upon  a  path  full  of  encourage- 
ment and  light.  I  am  at  the  cross-roads  of  life — 
read  for  me  the  index  which  points  this  way  or 
that! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Of  course  I  will  help  you  if  I  can,  Mr.  Brice. 
What  is  your  trouble  ? 

[ The  room  is  now  almost  in  darkness.] 

NOEL  BRICE. 

There  is  a  woman  I  love — whom  I  love  as  I  love 
no  other  earthly  being.  Tell  me — could  I  approach 
her  with  such  a  tale  of  poverty  and  struggle  upon 
my  lips  as  I  have  told  you,  my  friend  ?  What  would 
she  say  to  me  if  I  presumed  to  ask  her  to  be  my 
wife? 


TEE  HOBBY-HORSE  97 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Surely,  if  she  loved  you,  she  would  trudge  the 
hard  road  with  you. 

NOEL  BKICE. 
But  is  it  not  womanly  to  fear  poverty? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Yes,  to  fear  and  to  face  it. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
You  bid  me  speak  to  her  then  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
If  you  trust  her,  yes. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Then  give  me  your  hand  again. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Mr.  Brice ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Taking  her  hand.]     And  let  me  speak  to  you! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
To  me? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
To  you — the  woman  I  love  with  all  my  heart. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Retreating  from  him  slowly,  as  if  in  a  dream.]  The 
woman  you  love!  [Under  her  breath.]  Oh,  what 
have  I  done  ? 

[JERMYN  appears  at  the  door,  but  neither  NOEL  nor  MRS. 
JERMYN  hears  or  sees  him.] 


98  TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Speak  to  me,  friend  !  Still  friend — the  dearest 
name  a  man  can  give  even  the  woman  he  would 
make  his  wife  ! 

[NOEL  seizes  her  hand.   JERMYN  retreats  and  closes 
the  door  sharply.} 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Hush !     Oh,  hush ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Who's  there  ?     Who's  there  ? 

[JERMYN  knocks,  then   reopens  the   door  and  enters. 
MRS.  JERMYN  crouches  behind  the  arm-chair.} 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  really  must  apologize.  I'm  afraid  you  didn't 
hear  me  knock. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Have  you  any  business  with  me?  My  name  is 
Brice. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

My  dear  sir,  I'm  pleased  to  meet  you.  I'm  told 
you're  a  great  friend  of  my  son. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Your  son  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

My  son,  Allan  Jermyn — the  boy  who  calls  himself 
Tom  Clark. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  99 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Allan  Jermyn — Tom  Clark  ! 

a  stifled  cry  MRS.  JERMYN,  hiding  her  face,  stag- 
gers into  the  further  room  and  shuts  the  folding' 
doors,  at  the  same  moment  PINCHING  appears  in 
the  doorway.] 

PINCHING. 

Jermyn  !  Here's  the  boy  !  Allan  !  [ALLAN  enters 
with  BEUTHA.]  Allan ! 

ALLAN. 

[Grasping  PINCHING'S  hand  boisterously.]*  Ralph! 
Good  gracious  me  !  Well  I  never  !  How  did  you 
find  me  out?  Nevermind.  How's  my  father  ?  Does 
he  ever  ask  about  me  ?  Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  ! 
Here,  Noel !  Noel !  [BERTHA  lights  the  gas-lamp.] 

PINCHING. 
[Pointing  to  JERMYN.]     Look  there. 

ALLAN. 
Father ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Allan,  my  boy  ! 

[They  are  about  to  embrace  effusively,  when  they 
simultaneously  draw  back  and  look  at  each  other.] 

ALLAN. 
Hallo,  father !     How  are  you  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

H'm  !  Do  you  know  you  were  very  disrespectful 
to  me  when  I  last  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you, 
sir? 


100  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

ALLAN. 
I'm  sorry  you  think  so,  father. 

SPENCEE  JERMYN. 
I  do  more  than  think  so,  sir — I'm  sure  of  it. 

PINCHING. 
Jermyn,  Jermyn — Allan,  my  boy  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Well,  J  don't  know — however  —  [taking  ALLAN'S 
hand]  I'm  pretty  well,  thank  ye. 

ALLAN. 

Glad  to  see  you,  dad.  Backed  any  of  the  wrong 
'uns  lately  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  Don't  you  dare  to 
mention  King  Caraway 

PINCHING. 
Allan — Jermyn — no,  no ! 

ALLAN. 

Beg  pardon,  father.  Noel  !  [To  JERMYN.]  This 
is  Mr.  Brice — the  Eev.  Noel  Brice — the  dearest  fel- 
low in  the  world — my  true  friend. 

[JERMYN  shakes  hands  with  NOEL.] 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Ah,  Tom,  Tom,  I  was  Tom  Clark's  friend  ;  but 
I'm  quite  a  stranger  to  Allan  Jermyn. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  101 

ALLAN. 

I  was  going  to  spin  you  the  whole  yarn  to-night ; 
wasn't  I,  Bertha? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Eh? 

ALLAN. 

Oh — Bertha.  Mr.  Brice's  niece,  Bertha — the 
dearest  fellow  in  the  world — I  mean,  another  friend 
of  mine.  [JERMYN  bows.] 

BERTHA. 

[Quietly  to  ALLAN.]     Oh,  Allan,  I'm  so  afraid. 

ALLAN. 
Afraid,  my  darling  ? 

BERTHA. 

In  the  hat-shop  you  were  all  mine.  Now  I  feel 
toward  you  as  I  do  toward  the  books  from  the  lend- 
ing library.  The  chapters  of  your  life  are  not  for 
me  alone,  and  when  you  leave  me  other  people  may 
take  you  in  and  turn  you  up  at  the  corners. 

ALLAN. 
No,  never  this  book,  Bertha. 

BERTHA. 

Oh,  Allan,  Allan,  you'll  always  be  Tom  to  me, 
won't  you,  dear? 

[The  folding-doors  slightly  open  and  MRS.  JERMYN 
looks  eagerly  at  the  outer  door  for  means  of  es- 
cape, but  draws  back  quickly.] 


102  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JEBMYN. 

[To  NOEL.]  A  brave  young  fellow,  you  think  him, 
do  you?  You're  right,  sir.  Mr.  Brice,  let  me  call 
you  a  friend  of  mine.  Allan ! 

ALLAN. 
[Turning  from  BERTHA.]     Yes,  father. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
You'll  return  with  me  to  the  hotel  to-night. 

BERTHA. 
Oh! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

To-morrow  we'll  pop  down  to  Ascot  to  see  the 
running  for  the  Gold  Cup — next  day  I  shall  take  you 
home.  Do  you  know  that  your  mother  is  dying 
with  curiosity  to  see  what  her  son  is  like  ? 

ALLAN. 
I  shall  be  happy  to  make  her  acquaintance,  father. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Good-night,  Mr.  Brice. 

[MRS.  JERMYN  again  attempts  to  make  her  escape.] 

PINCHING. 

[Holding  a  note  he  has  just  scribbled.]  May  I  ask 
you,  Mr.  Brice,  to  give  this  note  to  Inspector  Mason 
when  he  calls  to-night  ?  It  is  to  let  him  know  the 
result  of  our  search  for  Allan.  I'll  place  it  here. 
[Laying  it  carelessly  on  the  writing-table  and  seeing  the 
letter  addressed  to  himself.']  Dear  me !  Pardon  me. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  103 

I  think  this  is  addressed  to  me— Pinching,  of  New- 
market. 

[MRS.    JERMYN   staggers  back   into    the   further 
room.] 

NOEL  BRICE. 

I  certainly  have  written  a  letter  to  a  Mr.  Pinching, 
Solicitor,  of  Newmarket. 

PINCHING. 

[Pointing  to  the  newspaper.}    In  reference  to  an  ad- 
vertisement in  The  Seraphim,  may  I  ask  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Yes. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Not  applying  for  the  Wardenship  of  the  Home  at 
Shodly  Heath  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Well— yes. 

PINCHING. 

[Opening  the  letter.]     Will  you  allow  me?    lam 
the  Mr.  Pinching. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Certainly. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Good  gracious  me,  Mr.  Brice  !     And  I,  sir,  /  am 
the  Founder ! 

ALLAN. 

Why,  Noel,  what's  all  this  about  ? 

PINCHING. 
Jermyn. 

[JERMYN  reads  the  letter  with  PINCHING,  excitedly.] 


104  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Dear  me,  tins  is  quite  extraordinary !  Excuse 
me  [Taking  the  letter.]  My  dear  Pinching  !  We 
have  found  the  young  liberal-minded  sporting  par- 
son !  Diana  said  there  wasn't  one  in  existence ! 

ALLAN. 
Oh,  Noel,  here's  a  stroke  of  luck ! 

BERTHA. 
Oh,  Uncle  Noel ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Pinching !  the  first,  the  only  answer  to  our  ad- 
vertisement— the  very  man  !  [To  NOEL,  enthusiasti- 
cally. ]  Mr.  Brice,  there  is  no  time  to  lose  in  a 
scheme  like  this.  When  can  you  come  down  to 
Shodly  ? 

ALLAN. 

Directly,  dad.  Old  Noel  at  Shodly  !  Bertha ! 
Five  miles  from  Odium  House !  Dad,  you've  got 
hold  of  the  finest  chap  in  the  world  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

But,  Mr.  Jermyn,  do  you  really  mean  that  you 
can  accept  the  propositions  contained  in  that  letter  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Never  read  a  letter  that  pleased  me  better  in  my 
life  !  Pinching,  will  you  take  Mr.  Brice  down  to 
the  Home  by  the  eleven-fifty-five  to-morrow  morn- 
ing? 


THE  HOBBYHORSE  105 

PINCHING. 
By  all  means,  if  he  agrees. 

[MRS.  JERMYN,  with  a  horror-stricken  face,  comes  from 
the  folding-doors  and  creeps  gradually  toward 
the  door.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Brice,  my  son's  friends  are  mine — things  hap- 
pen strangely.  [Taking  NOEL'S  hand.]  Let  me  ex- 
press a  hope  that  you  may  long  remain  Warden  GJ 
Shodly.  Come  along,  Allan  ! 

ALLAN. 

[Waving  his  hat.]  The  Warden  of  Shodly! 
Hurrah  ! 

[MRS    JERMYN,  unperceived,  staggers  out  at  the 
door.] 


END  OF   THE  SECOND   ACT. 


THE  TRIED  ACT. 

A   CHAPTER    OF    EXPIATION. 

The  scene  is  an  elegant  morning-room  at  MR.  JER- 
MYN'S,  with  French  windows,  a  veranda,  and  a 
conservatory,  and  a  view  of  the  garden  beyond. 
It  is  morning,  and  the  breakfast  things  are  on  the 
table  at  the  entrance  to  the  conservatory. 

Miss  MOXON  is  sitting  alone  at  the  breakfast-table. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Here's  Ralph  !  [Going  to  the  window  and  waving 
her  handkerchief.]  Oh,  what  a  depressed  object  he 
looks ! 

[PINCHING  enters,  loofcing  very  miserable,  with  a  tele- 
gram in  his  hand.} 

PINCHING. 
Oh,  good-morning,  Constance. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Good-morning  ! 

PINCHING. 

How  are  you  this  morning  ? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  107 

Miss  MOXON. 

Beyond  wishing  I  were  dead  I'm  extremely  well, 
thank  you.  [He  kisses  her  upon  the  forehead  ab- 
stractedly.] On  the  brow. 

PINCHING. 
Where's  Mrs.  Jermyn  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

Pacing  up  and  down  the  hall  distractedly. 
There's  her  breakfast  untouched.  I've  had  mine. 

PINCHING. 

We're  stuck  knee-deep  in  a  nice  substantial  quag- 
mire, I  must  say.  [Showing  the  telegram.']  Mr. 
Jermyn  and  Allan  have  left,  London  this  morning 
by  the  early  train,  and  will  be  home  in  about  twenty 
minutes.  The  Prodigal's  Return. 

[Miss  MOXON  gently  falls  against  PINCHING,  hold- 
ing on  to  his  arm.] 

Miss  MOXON. 
Oh,  Ralph— Ralph ! 

PINCHING. 

[Studying  the  telegram  intently]  Not  just  now, 
Constance,  dear — not  just  now,  my  love. 

Miss  MOXON. 
I  must — for  I  am  so  sorry  for  you. 

PINCHING. 
Sorry  for  me  ?    Why  on  my  account  particularly  ? 


108  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

Miss  MOXON. 

Of  course  I  am  sorry  too  for  poor  Diana  and  for 
Mr.  Jermyn,  and  for  that  innocent  clergyman  at 
Shodly — their  troubles  are  to  come 

PINCHING. 

You  are  sorry  for  yourself  also,  Constance,  I  hope 
— you  originated  the  whole  mischief,  if  you  remem- 
ber. 

Miss  MOXON. 

I  know  I  did  ;  but  then,  being  engaged,  the  gentle- 
man takes  the  entire  responsibility.  [Leaning  her 
head  on  his  shoulder  J]  And  that  must  be  so  awful 
where  the  gentleman's  a  solicitor. 

PINCHING. 

You  are  right,  Constance — it  is  awful,  shockingly 
awful.  Oh,  Constance,  my  dear  girl,  if  less  than  a 
fortnight  ago  you  had  but  confided  to  me  the  where- 
abouts of  Mrs.  Jermyn  I  could  have  flown  up  to 
London,  dragged  her  back  by  a  few  sensible  words 
of  advice,  and  saved  everybody  the  catastrophe  which 
is  to  break  over  our  heads  this  morning  like  the 
culminating  outburst  of  a  grand  pyrotechnic  display. 
Oh  !  oh !  oh  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

It  was  Diana's  secret — do  you  blame  me  for  keep- 
ing it  ? 

PINCHING. 
Look  at  the  result ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
I  am  the  first  woman  who  has  ever  kept  a  secret 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  109 

for  a  whole  fortnight.     You  ought  to  worship  me 
for  it ! 

PINCHING. 

I  do — I  do.     But  never  do  such  a  thing  again, 

Constance  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

Besides,  why  blame  me?  Who  was  it  who  led 
Mr.  Jermyii,  the  night  before  last,  into  the  very 
house  in  which  his  wife  was  ?  You're  a  lawyer — 
where  was  your  instinct  ? 

PINCHING. 

A  lawyer  doesn't  run  along  with  his  nose  on  the 
ground  like  a  pointer  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

I  don't  know  what  a  lawyer  does,  I'm  sure.  All 
my  theories  about  lawyers  are  crumbling — my  illu- 
sions used  to  be  beautiful.  I  begin  to  be  sorry  I 
ever  met  a  solicitor. 

PINCHING. 

Constance,  my  dear,  solicitors  are  but  men ! 
Miss  MOXON. 

Under  the  peculiar  circumstances  it  isn't  for  me  to 
object  to  that  ;  but  your  bringing  this  Mr.  Brice 
down  to  Shodly  yesterday  and  installing  him  within 
five  miles  of  the  very  rug  we're  standing  on  !  How 
could  you  ?  How  could  you  ?  How  could  you  ? 

PINCHING. 

How  was  I  to  know  that  the  poor  man  was  madly 
in  love  with  Diana  Jermyn,  ate  Constance  Moxon  ? 


110  TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

Miss  MOXON. 

Don't  argue  intemperately,  please.  There  is  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  decide — what  is  to  be  done? 

PINCHING. 
Oh,  the  case  is  clear  enough — h'm  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
H'm !    Now  then. 

PINCHING. 

First  gently  acquaint  Mr.  Brice  that  he  has  formed 
an  attachment  to  Tom  Clark's  —  that  is,  Allan 
Jermyn's — father's  wife,  who  is  Miss  Moxon. 

Miss  MOXON. 

No,  no^-first  let  Allan  Jermyn  know  that  his 
father's  wife  is  his  mother. 

PINCHING. 
Whose  mother,  my  dear? 

Miss  MOXON. 

Don't  interrupt  me.  Tell  Allan  Jermyn  that  he  is 
Constance  Moxon's  son. 

PINCHING. 

No,  no,  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  that — it  doesn't 
put  me  in  a  nice  position.  The  case  is  quite  simple. 
First  tell  Jermyn  that  Mr.  Brice  is  in  love  with  Mrs. 
Jermyn.  That's  easy  enough. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Oh,  yes,  that's  all  right.  And  who's  going  to 
transact  that  nice  little  easy  bit  of  business  ? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  111 

PINCHING. 
Who! 

Miss  MOXON. 

It  sounds  like  the  solicitor's  department 

PINCHING. 
No,  no — it  is  purely  a  woman's  task. 

Miss  MOXON. 
Diana's  ? 

PINCHING. 

My  dear  girl,  can  we  expect  a  wife  to  tell  her 
husband  that  another  man  has  proposed  to  her? 
Put  yourself  in  that  position — no,  don't  do  that — I 

mean The  whole  thing's  in  a  nutshell.    You've 

known  Mrs.  Jermyn  since  childhood. 

Miss  MOXON. 
/  do  it !  Oh,  Kalph,  what  an  unmanly  proposal ! 

PINCHING. 
Who  is  to  do  it  then  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

Would  Mr.  Brice  like  to  help  ?  He's  the  nearest 
clergyman ! 

PINCHING. 

Help  to  let  Jermyn  know  that  he  loves Oh, 

Constance  I 

Miss  MOXON. 

Very  well,  then,  we  are  forced  to  return  to  the 
only  disinterested  person— the  young  family  solic- 
itor. 


112  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

PINCHING. 

Disinterested !  When  the  original  mischief  arose 
from  a  suggestion  of  the  lady  I'm  engaged  to 
marry ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
Ralph  Pinching ! 

PINCHING. 
My  dear ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

Ralph  Pinching — of  Newmarket !  That  is  about 
the  fiftieth  time  you  have  upbraided  me  with  my 
innocent  complicity  in  this  unfortunate  business.  I 
ask  you  one  question — do  you.  wish  to  break  it  off? 

PINCHING. 
Of  course  I  don't,  my  dear  girl 

Miss  MOXON. 

Very  well,  then,  I  do.  I  literally  sicken  of  this 
never-ending  cruelty. 

PINCHING. 

Cruelty — Constance,  darling ! 
Miss  MOXON. 

You  can  be  gentle  at  times,  but  your  gentleness 
is  that  of  the  summer  sky,  which  anon  sends  forth 
its  fiery  shaft  to  ignite  and  to  destroy,  Mr.  Pinching. 

PINCHING. 

My  dear  girl,  you  know  you  don't  mean- 
Miss  MOXON. 
I  mean  that  I  must  be  quite  perfect  in  the  eyes 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  113 

of  the  man  I  marry.  The  chains  of  our  engage- 
ment have  clanked  for  a  fortnight,  Ealph  Pinching  ; 
let  mine  be  the  hand  to  strike  them  from  .your 
chafing  limbs.  Good-morning  ! 

[She  goes  out  through  the  window.'] 

PINCHING. 

We  have  the  same  scene  regularly  every  day,  and 
in  very  nearly  the  same  language.  [Studying  the  tele- 
gram again.]  But  I  can't  think  of  my  own  bothers 
with  so  many  of  other  people's  to  distract  me.  Now, 
what 

[Miss  MOXON  re-enters  and  comes  to  PINCHING.] 

Miss  MOXON. 
Kalph,  dear. 

PINCHING. 
Ah,  my  darling  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
I  have  carefully  thought  over  our  recent  interview. 

PINCHING. 
Which  one,  Constance  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

The  one  we  had  just  now — and  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  we  ought  to  be  much  more  mutually 
tolerant.  All  these  sad  misunderstandings  are  the 
common  incidents  of  long  engagements. 

PINCHING. 

[Intent  on  the  telegram.]  Yes,  dear,  yes — they  are 
— they  are  1 


114  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

Miss  MOXON. 
You  will  forget  what  I  said  to  you,  won't  you? 

PINCHING. 
I  do  forget  it,  iny  darling — entirely. 

Miss  MOXON. 
Forget — and  forgive  ? 

PINCHING. 
Certainly.   [He  kisses  her  forehead  in  an  absent  way."] 

Miss  MOXON. 
[To  herself.]  On  the  brow. 

PINCHING. 
[Looking  toward  the  conservatory.]  Mrs.  Jermyn ! 

[MRS.  JERMYN  enters  through  the  conservatory.  She 
is  pale,  her  eyes  are  fixed  upon  the  ground,  her 
arms  hang  listlessly  down,  she  holds  a  telegram.] 

Miss  MOXON. 
Di,  dear. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Constance. 

[She  puts  her  lips  to  Miss  MoxoN's/breTieac?,  then 
sinks  upon  the  settee.] 

Miss  MOXON. 

[To  herself.]    On  the  brow.    You  look  very  white, 
Diana. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
I  feel  white. 

Miss  MOXON. 

You  didn't  sleep  again  last  night  ? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  115 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Do  I  look  as  if  I  had  slept  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

Two  nights  without  rest — hot  hands — a  galloping 
pulse.  Oh,  Diana,  can't  you — can't  you  eat  an  egg  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh,  please. 

Miss  MOXON. 

I've  had  an  egg,  and  do  I  look  as  if  I'd  slept  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Yes,  Connie,  dear,  you  do. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Well,  that's  not  my  fault !  Why  don't  you  all  say 
you  blame  me  for  what  has  happened !  Oh,  why 
was  I  born ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  telegram.]  Oh,  don't  go 
back  to  years  ago,  Connie  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
Diana ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

I  mean  the  present  is  so  terribly  exigent 

Miss  MOXON. 
Before  Mr.  Pinching,  too  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Mr.  Pinching ! 


116  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

Miss  MOXON. 
He's  here. 

Miss  MOXON. 

[To  PINCHING,  whom  she  brings  forward.]  Poor 
Di  wanders  a  little — she  imagines  that  some  things 
happened  long  ago. 

MBS.  JERMYN. 

[Shaking  hands  feebly  with  PINCHING.]  Good-inorn- 
ing. 

PINCHING. 

I  see  you  have  received  a  telegram. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Yes — from  my  husband.  [Beading J\  "Burling- 
ton— Cork  Street.  The  boy  most  anxious  to  be 
presented  to  his  mother — thinks  you're  a  dowager — 
haven't  undeceived  him.  Peppercorn  picked  up 
the  Gold  Cup.  Expect  us,  without  fail,  by  evening 
train." 

PINCHING. 

[Looking  at  MRS.  JERMYN'S  telegram.]  Excuse  me 
— thank  you.  [To  Miss  MOXON.]  There's  a  discrep- 
ancy between  our  telegrams — they've  written  "  even- 
ing "  train  in  Mrs.  Jermyn's,  and  "  early  "  train  in 
mine. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Then  she  doesn't  know  they  may  be  here  in  ten 
minutes. 

PINCHING. 
No — you'd  better  tell  her. 


TEE  HOBBY-HORSE  117 

Miss  MOXON. 
No — you'd  better  tell  her. 

PINCHING. 
Yes — but  I  thought  as  you're  a  woman 

Miss  MOXON. 
I  know — but  you  being  a  solicitor 

PINCHING. 

Yes,  I  know,  but [They  argue.} 

MRS.  JERMTN. 
Mr.  Pinching. 

PINCHING. 
Mrs.  Jermyn. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

I  believe  you  have  been  made  acquainted  with  all 
the  details  of  this  dreadful  business. 

PINCHING. 
Constance  has  told  me  everything. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
At  my  request.     You — you  are  a  solicitor. 

Miss  MOXON. 
That's  what  /  say ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

At  an  hour  like  this  one  naturally  gets  a  crumb 
of  comfort  from  the  clear  brain  and  calm  judgment 
of  a  man  like  yourself. 


118  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

PINCHING. 
You're  very  good — I — anything  I  can  do 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Thank  you.  I  think  you  had  better  tell  me  about 
this  clergyman  —  Mr.  Brice.  I  understand  you 
brought  him  from  London  to  Shodly  yesterday 
morning  ? 

PINCHING. 

With  his  niece — yes. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Did  he  make  any  reference  to — to — you  know 
whom  I  mean— to  me  ? 

PINCHING. 

He  did.  When  I  called  for  him  in  the  morning 
I  found  him  in  great  distress  of  mind.  At  first  he 
declined  to  accompany  me.  I  asked  him  why.  He 
replied  that  he  had  sustained  a  great  loss — a  most 
precious  friend  had  gone  from  him.  I  asked  in 
what  way.  He  said  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed 
her.  "A  lady,  then?"  I  said.  "Yes,"  he  re- 
plied, "  the  brightest,  the  sweetest,  the  dearest  lady 
in  the  world." 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Thank  you,  Mr.  Pinching.  I  would  rather  hear 
no  more. 

Miss  MOXON. 

[To  PINCHING,  shaking  her  head.]  Be  quiet,  be 
quiet  I 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  119 

MKS.  JERMYN. 

[To  PINCHING,  commanding  herself.]  But  he  did 
travel  with  you  to  Shodly  after  all  ? 

PINCHING. 
At  my  persuasion. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Oh,  yes.  And  you  left  Mr.  Brice  and  his  niece  at 
the  Farm  ? 

PINCHING. 
I  did! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Thank  you,  Mr.  Pinching.  I  have  thought  every- 
thing over  carefully  and,  I  hope,  conscientiously. 
The  first  thing  to  be  done  before  my  husband  and 
his  son  return  to-night — 

[PINCHING  and  Miss  MOXON  exchange  looks.] 

PINCHING. 
To-night 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Is  to  let  Mr.  Brice  hear  the  whole  truth.  Will  you 
start  for  Shodly  Heath  at  once,  Mr.  Pinching  ? 
[PINCHING  bows.]  Tell  Mr.  Brice  the  history  of  the 
foolish  mistake — tell  him  that  I  entreat  his  pardon 
for  causing  him  so  much — so  much  inconvenience, 
and  beg  him  to  understand  that  I  cannot  do  this — 
in  person.  At  once,  please. 

PINCHING. 
At  once. 


120  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

[HEWETT  enters.] 

HEWETT. 
Breathlessly.]     I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
What  is  it  ? 

HEWETT. 

You've  forgot  to  order  the  carriage,  ma'am,   to 
meet  the  master  and  Mr.  Allan  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Why,  Hewett,  they  don't  leave  London  till  the 
evening  train. 

HEWETT. 

Lor'  bless  me,  I've  just  seen  'em  drive  up  to  the 
lodge  in  an  'ired  fly  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Clinging  to  Miss  MOXON.]     Oh  ! 

[HEWETT  runs  out  at  the  window.] 

PINCHING. 

I  was  afraid  of  this — my  telegram  said  the  early 
train. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

And  you  never  told  me  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
Oh,  what  a  solicitor. 

PINCHING. 
I  thought  of  mentioning  it ! 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  121 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Thought ! 

PINCHING. 

This  business  quite  upsets  me— it's  all  through 
being  engaged  to  one  of  the  ladies  concerned  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh! 

Miss  MOXON. 

Perhaps  you  wish  to  break  it  off,  Mr.  Pinching ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Speaking  outside.]  Come  through  here,  Allan! 
Hewett ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Ah! 

[MRS.  JERMYN  drags  Miss  MOXON  out  at  the  window  as     . 
JERMYN  enters  with  ALLAN.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Ah,  Pinching,  here  you  are.  Both  friendly  and 
business-like  of  you  to  be  here  to  receive  me. 
[Looking  at  PINCHING.]  What's  wrong  ?  Aren't  you 
well? 

ALLAN. 
You  do  look  seedy,  Ralph. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Tell  me — you  got  Mr.  Brice  down  to  Shodly  yes- 
terday ? 

PINCHING. 
Oh,  yes — he's  there ! 


122  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

That's  capital — capital !  So  the  Home's  fairly 
started,  eh  ?  I'm  proud  of  what  we've  done,  Pinch- 
ing— proud,  sir.  It's  the  culminating  point  in  my 
Turf  career ! 

[HEWETT  is  passing  toward  the  conservatory  carrying 
bags  and  umbrellas.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Where's  your  mistress,  Hewett  ? 

HEWETT. 

I  don't  know,  sir  ;  the  ladies  were  here  a  minute 
ago. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
The  ladies  !     What  la'dies  ? 

HEWETT. 
The  mistress  and  Miss  Moxon,  sir. 

[Goes  through  the  conservatory.] 

ALLAN. 
Miss  Moxon  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[To  PINCHING.]  Miss  Moxon  is  staying  with  us 
again  then  ? 

PINCHING. 

Y-yes — she's  here  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
She  must  have  just  returned  from  town  ? 

PINCHING. 
Yes — ah— just  returned. 


THE  HOBBY-HOUSE  123 

SPENCER  JEBMTN. 

I  was  quite  astonished  when  Allan  casually  men- 
tioned yesterday  that  a  Miss  Moxon  had  been  acting 
as  companion  to  Mr.  Brice's  niece.  You  couldn't 
have  known  it  either  ? 

PINCHING. 
No — I  didn't  know  it ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

We  little  thought  the  night  before  last  that  we 
were  in  the  very  house  with  the  lady  you  have  the 

happiness    to Excuse    me,    Pinching — don't 

think  me  rude — one  moment. 

[PINCHING  sits  at  the  table.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Allan,  my  boy — it  just  strikes  me.  It's  a  very 
awkward  thing,  this  attachment  you've  told  me 
about,  of  your  friend,  Mr.  Brice,  to  Miss  Moxon. 
You  know  she's  engaged  to  be  married  to  Pinching. 

ALLAN. 
It  is  jolly  awkward,  father. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  don't  like  it.  She's  an  old  friend  of  your 
mother's,  but  I  can't  have  a  woman  down  here  play- 
ing fast  and  loose  with  two  good  fellows. 

ALLAN. 
Miss  Moxon  is  a  very  nice  woman  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Ah,  they're  all  nice  till  they're  found  out,  my  boy. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

I  shall  talk  to  Diana  about  it.     Poor  Pinching — I 
knew  his  father. 

AT.T.AN, 

Poor  devil ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Be  careful  not  to  alarm  him  yet  awhile.  [PINCH- 
ING is  about  to  go  out  at  the  window.]  Wait  for  me 
here,  Pinching,  please. 

PINCHING. 
Certainly. 

ALLAN. 

[Seeing  the  breakfast-table.'}  By  Jove,  here's  some 
food  !  I'm  starving  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

All  right — I'll  go  upstairs  and  find  your  mother. 
Allan,  my  boy,  I've  kept  it  from  you  as  long  as  I 
can,  but — but — your  mother  isn't  an  old  lady  at  all, 
sir! 

AJLLAN. 

She  isn't,  father  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

No,  sir,  nor  a  middle-aged  lady — she  is  a  young 
lady,  much  too  young  to  own  a  great  hulking  boy 
like  you,  you  young  scamp,  you  ! 

ALLAN. 
Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
You  think  I  can't  play  a  good  joke,  eh  ?    Ha,  ha ! 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  125 

[Looking  at  PINCHING.]  Poor  Pinching — I  knew  his 
father,  too ! 

[He  goes  through  the  conservatory.     ALLAN  seats 
himself  at  the  breakfast-table.] 

ALLAN. 

[Cutting  a  loaf.]  This  comes  of  dad  dragging  me 
away  from  the  breakfast-table  this  morning. 

[MRS.  JERMYN  and  Miss  MOXON  appear  outside  the 
window,  and  Miss  MOXON  enters  on  tiptoe,  while 
MRS.  JERMYN  shrinks  back  out  of  sight.] 

Miss  MOXON. 

|  Clinging  to  PINCHING.]  Ealph — Balph — something 
must  be  done  ! 

PINCHING. 

\_In  a  fluster.]  I  know — I  know — I  was  just  think- 
ing of  doing  something. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Look  at  him  eating  happily.  [She  coughs;  ALLAN 
rises  with  his  mouth  full.]  Mr.  Jermyn's  son  ? 

ALLAN. 

I  beg  your  pardon.  [To  himself.]  By  Jove,  she 
is  a  pretty  woman  !  [To  her.]  I  think  I  can  guess 
who  it  is. 

PINCHING. 
Oh! 

Miss  MOXON. 
No  you  can't ! 

ALLAN. 
Father  has  gone  and  spoilt  his  own  joke.    I  hope 


126  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

you  don't  think  me  too  big  to  let  me  call  you,  for 
once  at  least,  my  mother. 

[He  draws  Miss  MOXON  to  him  and  kisses  her.'} 

PINCHING. 
No,  no ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

[Drawing  back.}  Oh,  dear !  [To  herself.}  On  the 
lips. 

PINCHING. 

You  know  that's  a  grown-up  man,  Constance — I 
don't  care  about  it. 

Miss  MOXON. 

That's  right — blame  me  I  Mr.  Jermyn,  we  are  all 
liable  to  error. 

ALLAN. 

Error !    What  error  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

[Pointing  to  PINCHING.]  This  gentleman  should 
have  spoken  earlier.  My  name  is  Constance  Moxon ! 

ALLAN. 
Your  name  Constance  Moxon  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

Indeed,  yes.  Diana  !  Diana,  dear  !  [Eunning  to 
the  window  and  bnnging  MES.  JEBMYN.]  This  is  Mrs. 
Jermyn — this  is  your  new  mother. 

[MRS.  JERMYN  stands  before  ALT. AN  with  her  head 
bowed.] 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  127 

ALLAN. 

[To  MRS.   JERMYN.]    Mother!     Ob,  Miss  Moxon  ! 
[Looking  from  one  to  the  other.]     Why 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

No,  that  lady  is  right,  Allan.     She  is  Miss  Moxon, 
not  I — I  am  Mrs.  Jermyn. 

Miss  MOXON. 

[To  PINCHING.]   No  solicitor  could  have  managed 
that  better. 

ALLAN. 
You  Mrs.  Jermyn  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Yes — yes. 

ALLAN. 

I  am  afraid  there  is  some  mistake.     Noel — Noel 
knows  you  are  Miss  Moxon. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
No — he  only  thinks  he  knows  I'm  Miss  Moxon. 

ALLAN. 

Bat  father  knows  you  were  at  Mr.  Brice's — I  told 
him  so. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

You  couldn't  have  done  so — you  didn't  know  I 
was  at  Mr.  Brice's. 

ALLAN. 
Oh,  don't  say  that — we  were  there  together. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
But  you  never  guessed  I  was  your  mother? 


128  THE  HOBBY-HOUSE 

ALLAN. 
No. 

MRS.  JEBMYN. 
Then  how  could  you  have  told  your  father? 

ALLAN. 
I  mean  I  told  him  Miss  Moxon  was  there. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Well,  there  is  Miss  Moxon. 

ALLAN. 
Then  it  seems  I've  told  a  lie  to  father. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Yes,  you  appear  to  have  made  a  very  bad  begin- 
ning. 

ALLAN. 

[To  MRS.  JERMYN.]  Good  gracious  !  Well,  but — 
father  knows  that  Noel's  in  love  with  you — [to  Miss 
MOXON]  no,  it's  with  you  ! 

PINCHING. 
No,  it  isn't ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Who  told  him  that? 

ALLAN. 
I  mentioned  it. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
How  dare  you  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 
Haven't  you  any  business  to  mind  of  your  own  ? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  129 

ALLAN. 
I'm  very  sorry. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Sorry ! 

ALLAN. 

Father  asked  me  to  tell  him  all  about  it. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
That's  impossible. 

ALLAN. 

He  did — because  he  accidentally  strayed  into  the 
room  while  Noel  was  proposing  to  you — [to  Miss 
MOXON]  no,  I  mean  to  you  ! 

PINCHING. 
No,  you  don't ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Great  Heaven  !     What  will  he  think  of  me  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 
What  does  he  think  of  me  ? 

ALLAN. 
But  it  was  in  the  dark. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh! 

Miss  MOXON. 

In  the  dark  !  That  makes  it  worse !  Oh,  Diana  ! 
you  never  told  me  you  didn't  have  the  lamp  lighted ! 


130  TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

ALLAN. 

I  see  how  awkward  it  is — because  one  of  you  is 
engaged  to  Mr.  Pinching. 

Miss  MOXON. 
/  ain  engaged  to  Mr.  Pinching. 

PINCHING. 
Certainly. 

ALLAN. 

Of  course — then  it  isn't  nice  for  Pinching,  is  it  ? 

PINCHING. 

Yes,  it  is ! 

Miss  MOXON. 

Yes,  it's  all  right  for  Pinching. 
ALLAN. 

No,  it  isn't  —  because No  —  by  Jove  —  it's 

father  it  isn't  nice  for  ! 

[MKS.  JERMYN  throws  herself  onto  the  settee.'] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Allan — Allan — come  to  me. 

ALLAN. 
Oh,  don't  cry,  Miss  Moxon — I  mean,  mother. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

I  thought  our  first  meeting,  whenever  it  happened, 
would  be  so  different  from  this. 

ALLAN. 
So  it  was,  you  know. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  131 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

I  have  often  pictured  my  husband's  son  as  the 
bright  impulsive  young  fellow  you  are.  Have  you 
never  thought  of  what  /  might  be  ? 

ALLAN. 

Well,  yes,  if  you  remember,  I  imagined  you  a 
thin,  pale  lady  with  spectacles — 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Oh,  yes,  of  course — that  was  unkind  of  you,  Tom 
— I  mean,  Allan.  But  didn't  your  father  describe  me 
to  you,  dear  ? 

ALLAN. 

Yes,  he  told  me  yesterday  you  were  an  enormous- 
ly stout  old  lady 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh! 

ALLAN. 
It  was  his  little  joke,  you  know. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Then  he  hasn't  told  you  of  my  fierce  philanthropic 
cravings — my  wild  fancies  for  adopting  and  rearing 
1-1-little  b-b-boys  ? 

ALLAN. 

No.     Oh,  I  see 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Yes,  you  see,  Allan,  what  led  me  into  this  mad 
scheme  of  taking  Constance  Moxon's  name  and  fill- 
ing her  place  at  poor  Mr.  Brice's  unknown  to  every- 
one. You  don't  blame  your  poor  mother,  do  you  ? 


132  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

ALLAN. 

No,  mother  dear — of  course  I  don't.  I  understand 
now  all  about  it.  Visiting  Tyke's  Court,  eh? 

MRS.  JSEMYN. 
[Crying.']     Y-yes. 

ALLAN. 
Ha  !  ha !     That  was  rather  a  failure,  wasn't  it  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Laughing  and  crying. ~\  Awful.  Don't  remind  me 
of  it! 

ALLAN. 

Your  turning  faint  and  coming  to  in  the  chemist's ! 
Ha !  ha ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Ha !  ha !  Why,  I  should  never  have  been  so 
foolish  if  I  had  always  had  you  to  manage  and  con- 
trol, my  own  dear  little  boy. 

ALLAN. 
No,  mother  dear. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Smoothing  his  hair  and  arranging  his  cravat.]  I 
shall  dress  you  quite  differently  from  this  in  a  day 
or  two. 

ALLAN. 
Yes,  mother. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Yes— and  I  think  I  shall  part  your  hair  in  that 
way. 

ALLAN. 
Thank  you,  mother. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  133 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

And  you'll  always  look  up  to  me  and  come  to  me 
for  advice  in  your  little  troubles,  won't  you  ? 

ALLAN. 

Certainly.    And  I  should  like  to  say,  mother  dear, 
that  I  am  very  sorry — very  sorry — that  I 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
You  are  going  to  confess  a  fault,  my  boy  ? 

ALLAN. 
Well,  yes,  mother — I  suppose  I  am. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Sit  there.     What  is  it,  child  ? 

[ALLAN  sits  at   her  feet,  she  places  her  hand  on 
his  head.] 

ALLAN. 
I  was  going  to  say  that  I 


MRS.  JERMYN. 

Yes — don't  be  afraid  that  I  shall  punish  you,  Allan. 
You  are  very  sorry  that  you 

ALLAN. 

That  I  advised  old  Noel  to — to  propose  to  you, 
mother  dear. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
You  advised  him  ! 

ALLAN. 

Yes,  mother — he  wouldn't  have  done  it  but  for 
me.     I  egged  him  on. 


134:  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

You  did !  [Seizing  him  by  the  shoulders.]  You  are 
the  cause  of  all  the  mischief,  then  ! 

ALLAN. 
Yes,  mother,  but  listen  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Rising  and  facing  him.]  Oh  !  Oh  !  Why  aren't 
you  the  same  size  as  other  mothers'  boys,  that  I 
might  properly  chastise  you  ! 

[JERMYN  bustles  in  at  the  window.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Oh,  my  dear  Diana— I've  been  running  after  you 
everywhere.  How  very  inconsiderate  !  [Kissing  her.] 
How  are  you,  my  darling  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
I'm  not  very  well,  Spencer,  thank  you. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

You  look  white.  [Seeing  ALLAN.]  Hullo,  you've 
found  my  boy,  then  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Y-yes — we've  been  talking. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

My  dear,  you're  surely  not  concerned  at  his  size 
— it  doesn't  make  you  any  older,  Diana. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
No,  it  isn't  that,  Spencer. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  135 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Have  you  been  upsetting  your  mother,  sir,  before 
you've  been  in  the  house  ten  minutes? 

ALLAN. 
No,  father. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Don't  answer  me,  sir — don't  answer  me !  Go 
away !  [ ALLAN  joins  Miss  MOXON  and  PINCHING.]  He's 
a  fine  chap,  isn't  he  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Very. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Of  course  you  can't  judge  of  his  excellent  quali- 
ties from  seeing  him  once,  can  you  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh,  no. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Wait  till  you've  known  him  a  week,  Diana — wait 
till  you've  known  him  a  week. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  girl  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

[Coming  to  MRS  JERMYN'S  aid.~]  How  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Jermyn? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Ah,  Miss  Moxon  !  Glad  to  get  back  to  us,  eh  ? 
Extraordinary  coincidence,  your  living  in  the  same 


136  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

house  with  my  boy  and  never  suspecting  it.  You're 
quite  old  friends,  you  and — what  did  he  call  him- 
self? 

Miss  MOXON. 
Tom  Jones. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
No,  no — he  didn't,  he  didn't ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
John  Clark. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Tom  Clark.  [To  himself.]  I've  turned  against 
that  woman !  [PINCHING  joins  JERMYN  and  Miss 
MOXON.]  Little  did  we  suspect,  Pinching,  the  other 
night,  how  near  we  were  to  the  lady  we  both — you 
especially,  of  course — know  so  well. 

Miss  MOXON. 

Yes,  but — ha,  ha ! — how  jolly  to  be  together  here 
again ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Ha!  ha!  ha!  [To  himself. J  Wants  to  change 
the  subject.  That  woman  is  deceiving  poor  Pinch- 
ing. The  singular  part  of  it  is,  Miss  Moxon,  that 
when  I  stumbled  into  Mr.  Brice's  room  in  the  dark 
I  saw  the  figure  of  a  lady. 

Miss  MOXON. 
[Looking  at  MRS.  JERMYN.]     Ah  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[To  himself.]  I  thought  so.  [To  Miss  MOXON.] 
That  must  have  been  yourself,  of  course. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  137 

MBS.  JERMYN. 
[Approaching]     Oh,  Spencer ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

One  moment.  [To  himself.]  I'll  apply  the  test. 
[To  Miss  MOXON.]  While  I  think  of  it  I've  a  plan 
for  this  afternoon.  Diana,  we  will  drive  Pinching 
and  Miss  Moxon  over  to  Shodly  to  drink  tea  with  the 
Warden  of  the  Home,  Mr.  Brice. 

[MRS.    JERMYN  sinks  upon   the  settee  and   Miss 
MOXON  sits  aghast  on  the  ottoman.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Looking  only  at  Miss  MOXON,  sai/s  to  himself.]  I'm 
right.  Coquette  !  She  sha'n't  deceive  poor  Pinch- 
ing any  longer.  I'll  consult  Diana.  [Miss  MOXON, 
PINCHING,  and  ALLAN  talk  together.  JERMYN  sits  beside 
MRS.  JERMYN.]  Diana. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Spencer. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

There's  something  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,  my 
dear ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
There's  something  I  want  to  tell  you,  Spencer. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

One  moment,  please,  Diana.  I  didn't  mention 
just  now  that  when  I  entered  Mr.  Brice's  room  acci- 
dentally the  other  night  I  was  unfortunate  enough 
to  witness  a  love  episode  of  a  very  pronounced  kind. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh! 


138  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JEEMYN. 

I  knew  you'd  be  shocked.  The  fact  is  that  this 
Mr.  Brice,  who  is  a  poor,  earnest  kind  of  man,  seems 
to  have  been  proposing  marriage  to  Miss  Moxon. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Yes,  but,  Spencer,  she  was  not — she  was  not — en- 
couraging him  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Well,  dear,  it  was  in  the  dark,  of  course — but  I 
certainly  didn't  see  any  active  protest  on  Miss  Mox- 
on's  part. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

No,  no,  Spencer,  you  are  wrong.  I'll  tell  you  all 
— everything,  from  beginning  to  end.  The  poor 
woman  had  no  idea  that  Mr.  Brice  thought  about 
her  seriously.  Listen  !  Spencer — Nettles  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

My  darling,  you  know  only  your  friend's  version 
of  the  affair.  But  men  are  loyal  as  well  as  women. 
Permit  me,  therefore,  to  consider  the  feelings  of  my 
friend — poor  Pinching. 

[HEWETT  enters,  gives  JERMYN  a  note,  and  they  speak 
together  at  the  window.  MRS.  JERMYN  beckons 
ALLAN  to  her.] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Allan — my  boy — you  will  help  me,  won't  you? 
Only  help  me  ! 

ALLAN. 

Of  course  I  will— you  were  jolly  kind  to  me  at 
Noel's. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  139 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Ah,  that  only  shows  that  kindness  is  never  thrown 
away.  Allan,  steal  away  quietly,  go  into  the  stable, 
put  a  saddle  on  my  Betsy — she  hasn't  been  out  since 
I  left  home  and  will  be  frightfully  fresh — and  gallop 
over  to  Shodly  Heath  !  Tell  Mr.  Brice  everything, 
Allan,  and  warn  him,  warn  hirn  that  we're  all  coming 
over  to  tea  this  afternoon  ! 

ALLAN. 

All  right,  mother — trust  to  me  ! 

[He  runs  out  quietly  through  the  conservatory."] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Joining  MRS.  JERMYN  with  a  dirty  scrap  of  paper  in 
his  hand.]  My  dear,  things  are  not  going  quite 
smoothly  at  Shodly  Home,  I'm  afraid.  Some  of  the 
poor  fellows  have  walked  over — a  deputation  they 
call  themselves — to  make  some  formal  complaint 
about  the  behavior  of — the  Warden. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
That's  Mr.  Brice  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Yes.  I  hope  you  haven't  made  any  muddle  in  the 
affair,  my  dear  Pinching. 

PINCHING. 
I! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[To  HEWETT.]  I'll  see  these  poor  men  here,  Hew- 
ett,  at  once.  [HEWETT  goes  out.] 


140  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[To  Miss  MOXON.]  Oh,  Constance,  what  has  hap- 
pened ? 

Miss  MOXON. 
Hush,  dear,  hush  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Reading  the  scrap  of  paper. ]  Dear,  oh,  dear — 
this  is  most  unfortunate.  Pinching,  I  fear — I  very 
much  fear — that  your  precipitate  engagement  of 
this  Mr.  Brice  is  not  going  to  result  in  complete 
success. 

PINCHING. 
My  dear  Jerrnyn ! 

[HEWETT  appears  outside  the  window  with  SHAT- 
TOCK,  PEWS,  MOULTER,  a  huge  bullet-headed, 
ruffianly-looking  person,  and  MR.  LYMAN,  a 
wizen  young  man  with  a  green  shade  over  one 
eye.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Come  in,  men — come  in.  Diana,  dear,  you  will 
be  interested,  I  think.  Come  in. 

[The  men  enter  and  HEWETT  retires.] 

SHATTOCK. 
Ladies  all ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Good -morning  —  good  -  morning.  I'm  sorry  to 
read  here  that  you're  not  comfortable  and  happy 
you  men.  What  do  you  want  ? 

SHATTOCK. 

[With an  important  cough.]  I  introdooce  this  Dep- 
itation. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Very  well — do  so. 

SHATTOCK. 

Fust,  there's  me.  Mr.  Pews,  you  know  and  re- 
spect. Mr.  Moulter  never  rode,  but  kep'  the  Blue 
Bull  at  Doncaster — so  is  one  of  us.  He  lost  his 
license  unfairly  through  late  hours,  though  it  was 
keepin'  up  his  sister's  birthday  on  each  occasion. 
That  he'll  swear  to.  Mr.  Lyman  —  step  out  'ere, 
Bob.  The  name  of  Bob  Lyman  is  a  'ouse'old  word 
wherever  Sport  is  honored.  He'll  ride  ag'in,  Bob 
will,  when  honest  men  is  Stooards  of  the  Jockey 
Club.  That's  the  Depitatiou. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Well,  well,  well — what  is  wrong  with  you  ? 

SHATTOCK. 

What's  wrong  with  us  ?  What  is  wrong  with  the 
Reverend  N.  Brice? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
[To  herself.]     Oh  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Nothing,  I  hope. 

SHATTOCK. 

Nothing  !  I  should  like  his  running  inquired  into, 
that's  all. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Will  you  explain  yourself  ?  You  others,  speak  up. 
[To  LYMAN.]  That  little  man  there. 

LYMAN. 
Well,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  what  Mr.  Shattock  in- 


142  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

fers  is  the  followin'.  We  thought  we  was  a'  enter- 
ing ourselves  for  the  Free  and  Easy  Stakes,  and  we 
find  ourselves  runnin'  'eavy  in  the  Church  o'  England 
Welter. 

PEWS  and  MOULTEK. 
Hear,  hear ! 

SHATTOCK. 

Well  put,  Bob.  Hear  ine,  dear  ladies.  The  rev- 
erend gentleman  arrived  yesterday  afternoon,  'avin' 
apperently  sustained  no  damage  on  'is  journey  down. 
He  comes  up  the  path  at  Sbodly  'Ome  with  a  neat 
little  filly  makin'  all  the  runnin'  for  'im. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Hush,  hush — his  niece,  please. 

SHATTOCK.        • 

I  'appened  to  be  in  the  porch  at  the  time  a' 
throwin'  up  a  'armless  coin  or  two  with  Mr.  Pews. 
"Stop  that!"  he  says.  "Stop  what?"  I  says. 
"  Gambling  !  "  he  says. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Good  gracious  !     Very  arbitrary,  eh,  Pinching  ? 

SHATTOCK. 

I  pockets  the  bitter  insult  and  I  marches  straight 
into  the  drawin'-room,  where  a  few  of  our  gentlemen 
was  a'  playin'  parlor  bowls,  and  I  says,  "  Mark  the 
game  where  it  stands,  my  lords ;  here's  the  Arch- 
bishop o'  Canterbury  dropped  in." 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
You  shouldn't  have  said  that. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  143 

SHATTOCK. 

So  the  Eeverend  N.  opinionated,  for  forthwith  he 
sticks  'isself  up  ag'in'  the  mantelpiece,  and  he 
preaches  at  us  from  half  -  past  three  till  tea  -  time. 
Whereupon  the  young  lady  sings  us  a  solemn  air. 
Well,  we  honcored  that — not  so  much  for  the  toon, 
but  to  rile  the  Reverend  N.  And  then  one  of  our 
gentlemen — 'Enery  'Awkins — got  melted  and  told 
his  'istory.  That  did  us,  because  'Euery's  career 
'asn't  been  so  honorable  as  wot  ours  'as.  And  then 
the  Reverend  N.  lets  us  'ave  it  agin.  "  Races  !  "  he 
says  ;  "  the  only  prize  worth  runnin'  for  is  the  Clear 
Conscience  Cup,  distance,  three-score  years  and  ten. 
Sport !  "  he  says  ;  "  dooty  to  your  neighbor,  there's 
sport  for  yer  !  "  And  then  'im  and  the  young  lady 
shakes  'ands  with  us  all  round  like  'ypocrites,  and 
retires  to  be  weighed  in,  'avin'  preached  ag'in'  us  for 
three  hours  twenty  by  Benson's  chronometer,  bein' 
the  longest  sermon  on  record. 

[SHATTOCK   rejoim   his  companions,  who  receive 
him  approvingly.] 

MOULTEB,  PEWS,  and  LYMAN. 
Well  rode,  Samuel,  well  rode  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  must  say — I  must  say  that  this  is  not  the  treat- 
ment to  which  any  follower  of  the  Turf  should  be 
subjected !  Pinching,  I  am  most  indignant ! 

SHATTOCK. 

[Looking  out  of  window.]  Hullo,  look  'ere ! 
lire's  a  cowardly  act ! 


144  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JEKMYN. 
What's  that  ? 

SHATTOCK. 

'E  can't  trust  us  to  tell  our  own  tale  —  he  follows 
us  from  Shodly  ! 

[There  is  a  murmur  of  indignation  from  the  men. 
Catching  sight  of  NOEL,  MRS.  JERMYN  and  Miss 
MOXON  make  their  escape.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Who  follows  you  from  Shodly  ? 

SHATTOCK. 
7m  !     The  Reverend  N.  !     'Ere  he  is ! 

[NOEL  BRICE  enters  with  BERTHA.] 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Good-morning,  Mr.  Jermyn. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
H'm  !     Good-morning. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Bertha,  dear,  go  and  look  at  the  flowers  in  the  gar- 
den till  I  have  finished.  [BERTHA  goes  out  through 
the  window.]  These  men,  Mr.  Jermyn,  knowing  my 
intention  to  report  the  conduct  of  some  of  their  num- 
ber, are  evidently  here  to  defend  themselves  in  ad- 
vance. I  am  glad  it  is  so. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  beg  your  pardon.  These  men  are  here,  Mr. 
Brice,  to  prefer  a  complaint  against — against— the 
Warden,  I  regret  to  say. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  145 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Indeed  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Yes,  Mr.  Brice,  and  may  I  ask,  sir,  whether 

[PINCHING  is  about  to  steal  out.']  Pinching,  please, 
kindly  treat  this  affair  with  your  usual  professional 
strictness. 

PINCHING. 

Certainly,  Jermyn. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

May  I  ask,  Mr.  Brice,  whether  you  have  thought 
it  generous  to  reproach  these  unfortunate  men  with 
their  calling,  sir? 

SHATTOCK. 
'E  'ave  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

I  certainly  have  made  no  effort  to  teach  them  to 
respect  their  calling.  I  don't  like  their  calling,  sir. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
What,  Mr.  Brice ! 

SHATTOCK. 
Oh,  'ark — and  before  Bob  Lyman  too ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Pinching,  take  notes  of  this,  please. 
PINCHING. 

[Hastily. 1  I  was  just  thinking  of  doing  something 
of  that  sort,  Jermyn. 


146  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCEK  JERMYN. 

But,  good  gracious,  Mr.  Brice  !  Do  you  forget  the 
wording  of  my  manifesto  in  The  Seraphim  f 

NOEL  BRICE. 
No,  I  recollect  it  perfectly. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Losing  his  patience.]  Very  well  then,  sir,  is  your 
behavior  to  these  unfortunate  persons  consistent 
with  a  thorough  sympathy  with  our  National  Sports 
and  Pastimes  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

No — indeed  it  is  not. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

You  admit  it !  Bless  my  soul  and  body,  sir  !  Then 
do  you  mean  to  stand  there  and  tell  me  to  my  face 
that  you  don't  detect  an  elevating  tendency  in  Horse- 
racing  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

I  regret,  sir,  that  my  observations  have  not  in- 
formed me  of  such  a  tendency. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Where,  is  your  letter — where  is  your  letter  ? 

[In  his  endeavors  to  find  the  letter  he  drops  his 
cigar  case  upon  the  floor, ,] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Devil  take  the  things!  [To  NOEL.]  I  beg  your 
pardon.  Where's  the  letter  ?  Here  it  is.  Your  let- 
ter, sir. 


TEE  HOBBY-HORSE  147 

NOEL  BRICE. 
My  letter,  sir. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Referring  to  the  letter.]  May  I  ask  you,  Mr. 
Brice,  if  this  attitude  is  consistent  with  a  delight — 
a  delight,  sir—in  accepting  the  Wardenship  of  my 
much-needed  Home  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

No,  sir,  it  is  not — for  I  cannot  conscientiously 
affirm  that  the  Home  at  Shodly  is  a  much-needed 
institution. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Beside  himself,  holding  out  the  letter.]  Is  that 
your  letter  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Certainly — that  is  my  letter. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Then  I'm  d [To  NOEL.]     I  beg  your  pardon. 

Pinching !  Pinching — you  are  my  solicitor.  I 
knew  your  father  too.  It  will  be  both  a  professional 
and  a  friendly  act  if  you  will  endeavor  to  prevent 
my  losing  entire  control  over  myself.  Pinching, 
what  can  I  say  to  this  man  ?  Good  lord,  Pinching, 
what  shall  I  do  ? 

PINCHING. 

H'm !  Ask  Mr.  Brice  to  read,  word  for  word, 
his  own  letter.  [To  himself.]  Now  I  have  done 
something  ! 


148  THE 

SPENCER  JEEMYN. 

[Handing  the  letter  to  NOEL.]     Your  clear  head  is 
invaluable,  Pinching. 

NOEL  BEIGE. 

[Reading  the  letter.}     "My  Dear  Sir."     My  Dear 
Sir  !  [He  reads  the  letter  to  himself.'} 

SPENCER  JEEMYN. 
There,  sir !  there  !  there  ! 

NOEL  BEICE. 

Why,  what Oh  !     What  is  the  meaning  of 

this? 

SPENCEE  JEEMYN. 
I  should  be  glad  to  know,  Mr.  Brice. 

NOEL  BEICE. 

This  is  no  letter  of  mine  !     Surely  you  don't 

Stop,  sir — yes,  this  is  my  signature — I  have  signed 
this — it  is  my  letter. 

SPENCEB  JEEMYN. 

Now,  Mr.  Brice,  you  will  perhaps  offer  some  ex- 
planation. 

'NoEL  BEICE. 
I  cannot.     How — how  can  I  explain — this  ? 

SPENCEE  JEEMYN. 
That  letter  is  evidently  written  at  your  dictation. 

NOEL  BEICE. 

Yes.     But  the  matter  of  it  is  not  inspired  by  any 
thought  or  word  of  mine. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  149 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Do  you  mean,  sir,  that  you  have  been  made  a  fool 
of — that  /  have  been  made  a  fool  of  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Mr.  Jermyn,  I  have  accepted  a  post  for  which  my 
opinions  and  sympathies  quite  unfit  me.  If  you 
think  I  owe  you  an  apology,  I  offer  it  freely.  I 
make  an  appeal  to  you.  I  ask  you  to  allow  me  to 
destroy  this  letter,  and  to  turn  my  back  upon 
Shodly  Heath  without  delay.  Mr.  Jermyn,  let  me 
destroy  this  letter ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Excuse  me,  sir — not  just  yet.  My  letter,  please. 
[NOEL  returns  the  letter.']  Whatever  injury  has  been 
done  you,  Mr.  Brice,  is  more  than  double  by  the 
affront  which  the  perpetrator  of  this  joke  has  put 
upon  me.  I  demand  to  know  the  name  of  the  actual 
writer  of  this  letter. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
I  regret  that  I  cannot  give  it — I  cannot  give  it. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
You  refuse  to  give  it  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
I  refuse. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Take  your  men  away  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Shattock. 
Wait  outside,  please. 


150  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SHATTOCK. 
Examine  his  pedigree,  dear  gentlemen ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Go  away  ! 

SHATTOCK. 

Look  at  his  mouth,  dear  gentlemen ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Go  away! 

SHATTOCK. 

The  Depitation  then  withdroo. 

[SHATTOCK,  PEWS,  MOULTER,  and  LYMAN  go  out.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Brice,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  inform 
me  if  this  letter  is  the  handiwork  of  a  lady  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

When  I  tell  you  that  it  was  written  by  a  lady 
whom  I — respect,  don't  you  see  that  it  should  be 
destroyed — destroyed  !  [To  PINCHING.]  Sir,  if  you 
have  any  influence  over  Mr.  Jermyn,  will  you  add 
your  earnest  request  to  mine  that  this  letter  should 
be  torn  to  shreds  and  forgotten  ? 

PINCHING. 

Certainly.  I  do  urge  Mr.  Jermyn  most  strongly 
to  destroy  the  letter  and  let  the  matter  drop. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Pinching,  you  are  probably  less  my  solicitor  than 
my  friend.  It  is  in  the  latter  capacity  that  I  fear  I 
am  going  to  give  you  considerable  pain. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  151 

PINCHING. 
Jermyn  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Now,  Mr.  Brice,  will  you  forgive  my  asking  you  if 
the  lady  who  wrote  that  letter  is  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried to  you  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Sir! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

You'd  rather  not  answer  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

I  will  answer  you — the  lady  is  not  engaged  to  be 
married  to  me. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Grasping  PINCHING'S  hand.]  I  am  delighted  to 
hear  it !  My  dear  Pinching  !  [Turning  to  NOEL.]  My 
good  sir  !  She  has  refused  you  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
No,  sir,  she  has  not  refused  me. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Not  refused  you.  Poor  Pinching  !  Sir,  I  am  sorry 
to  deduce  from  your  statement  that  you  are  awaiting 
this  lady's  decision  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

I  will  tell  you  no  more,  Mr.  Jermyn.  Will  you  de- 
stroy that  letter  ? 


152  TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCEE  JERMYN. 

Stop,  Mr.  Brice,  please.  Pinching,  my  dear  boy, 
in  resenting  the  gross  insult  which  has  been  put 
upon  me  I  find  I  must  deal  a  severe  blow,  not  to  you 
alone,  but  to  that  gentleman  also.  Pinching,  oblige 
me  by  asking  Miss  Moxon  to  join  us. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Miss  Moxon  !   Did  you  say — Miss  Moxon  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Pinching. 

PINCHING. 

Pardon  me,  Jermyn — as  jour  friend  I  would  rather 
do  nothing  of  the  kind. 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Miss  Moxon  here — in  your  house  ! 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Certainly.  Shall  I  ring  for  Miss  Moxon,  Pinching, 
or  would  you  prefer  my  seeking  her? 

PINCHING. 

No,  no — wait  one  moment. 

[He  goes  quickly  into  the  conservatory.'] 

NOEL  BRICE. 

What  is  Miss  Moxon  doing  here  ?  What  is  she 
doing  here  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Miss  Moxon  is  a  friend  of  my  wife's,  and  she  has 
just  returned  to  my  house  from  yours. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  153 

NOEL  BRICE. 

But  this  gentleman,  Mr.  Pinching — she  is  nothing 
to  him  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  regret  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Brice,  that  Mr.  Pinching 
and  Miss  Moxon  are  affianced  lovers. 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Ah! 

[Miss  MOXON  enters  quickly,  followed  by  PINCHING.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

\With  the  letter  in  his  hand.]  Madam,  you  will 
allow  me  to  express  my  deep  sorrow  at  the  position 
I  feel  justified  in  adopting  toward  a  friend  of  Mrs. 
Jermyn's.  With  your  relations  with  these  two  gentle- 
men I  have  perhaps  little  to  do 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Stop,  sir ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Hush,  please  !  But  with  the  writer  of  this  letter  I 
have  a  distinct  reckoning  to  make.  Madam,  your 
sense  of  humor  may  be  more  acute  and  your  notions 
of  jesting  more  practical  than  my  own.  But,  how- 
ever greatly  you  may  be  my  superior  in  these  re- 
spects, I  call  into  question  your  taste  in  placing  that 
gentleman  in  the  position  he  now  occupies,  and  in 
ridiculing  a  scheme  of  charity  which  ignorance  must 
have  robbed  you  of  the  privilege  of  understanding. 
[Handing  NOEL  the  letter.]  Mr.  Brice,  I  have  done 
with  that  letter. 


154  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Pardon  me,  Mr.  Jermyn,  but  may  I  ask  this  lady's 
name? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

That  lady's  name ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Because  if  it  is  not  that  gentleman's  duty  to  de- 
fend her  from  the  charges  you  have  brought  against 
her  it  is  mine. 

PINCHING. 

It  is  my  duty  !     I  was  just  thinking  of  saying  so  ! 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Do  you  mean  to  stand  there  and  tell  me  that  you 
don't  recognize  the  lady  who  has  resided  in  your 
house  for  nearly  a  fortnight  ? 

PINCHING. 

Jermyn,  she  has  done  nothing  of  the  kind  ! 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

You'll  drive  me  mad  amongst  you !  [To  NOEL.] 
You  don't  deny  that  that  lady  was  recently  your 
niece's  companion  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Certainly,  I  deny  it. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Madam,  have  you  not  just  returned  from  Mr. 
Brice's  lodgings  ? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  155 

Miss  MOXON. 

Ob,  no,  Mr.  Jermyn — I  have  never  seen  Mr.  Brice 
till  this  moment. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Never  seen  him  !     Never  seen  him !     Why,  the 
night  before  last  I  saw  you  see  him ! 

PINCHING. 

Jermyn,  believe   me,  you  don't   know   anything 
about  it ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Not  know  anything  about  it!     (To  NOEL.)     Was 
Miss  Constance  Moxon  ever  your  niece's  companion  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 
She  was,  sir. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Then  how  dare  you  all 

NOEL  BRICE. 

She  was — but,  Mr.  Jermyn,  you  know  that  that 
lady  is  not  Miss  Constance  Moxou. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Not  Miss  Constance  Moxon  !     Good  heavens  ! 

PINCHING. 
Yes,  she  is  ! 

Miss  MOXON. 
Yes,  I  am  ! 

[BERTHA  appears  at  the  window.] 

BERTHA. 

Uncle  !   Uncle  Noel !   I've  found  her !     I've  found 
her! 


156  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

NOEL  BEIGE. 
Found  her ! 

BERTHA. 

Miss  Moxon  !     She's   here  !     She's  here  !    Miss 
Moxon  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Turning  to  the  others.]     I  told  you   so !     What 
trick  are  you  all  playing  me  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Miss  Moxon  ! 
[BERTHA  enters^  dragging  MRS.  JERMYN  by  the  hand.] 

BERTHA. 
Uncle  Noel,  look  here  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Miss  Moxon  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Miss  Moxon  !     That  is  Mrs.  Jermyn— that  is  my 
wife,  sir  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Your  wife  !    Miss  Moxon,  your  wife  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Why,    you    don't   mean    that   this    is   the    lady 
who Oh ! 

[HEWETT  enters,  supporting  ALLAN,  who  is  limping.] 

HEWETT. 
All  right,  sir — young  gentleman  got  thrown  ! 

'   ALLAN. 
[Sinking  onto  the  settee.]     Noel — mother  ! 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  157 

PINCHING. 

[Quietly  to  Miss  MOXON.]  I  kept  it  from  him  as 
long  as  I  possibly  could — nobody  could  have  done 
more. 

BERTHA. 
Oh,  uncle,  Allan  is  hurt !     Allan  ! 

HEWETT. 

He's  all  right,  miss.  Young  gentleman  got  Betsy 
out  of  the  stable  on  his  own  account.  He  come 
off  beautifully,  just  by  Pinnock's  Gate — never  saw  a 
gentleman  come  off  neater.  [HEWETT  retires.'} 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Brice,  do  I  understand  you  to  tell  me  that 
Mrs.  Jermyn  is  the  lady  you  have  hitherto  supposed 
to  be  Miss  Moxon? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Mrs.  Jermyn  is  the  lady  I  have  known  as  Miss 
Moxon. 

[He  turns  away  and  leans  against  the  mantlepiece 
with  his  head  bowed.} 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Diana. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Spencer. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Then  you,  and  not  Miss  Moxon,  have  been  act- 
ing as  companion  to  this  young  lady  during  my 
absence  from  Odium  House  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Yes,  Spencer ! 


158  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JEKMYN. 

And  I  understand,  Miss  Moxon,  that  this  has  been 
with  your  connivance  and  assistance  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 
Yes! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

While  at  the  same  time  you  have  remained  my 
guest  ? 

Miss  MOXON. 

Yes,  Mr.  Jermyn ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
And  you  have  known  all  this,  Allan  ? 

ALLAN. 
Found  it  out  this  morning,  father ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
And  you,  Pinching  ? 

PINCHING. 

H'm  !    I  learned  the  state  of  affairs  yesterday. 
SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Looking  round  from  one  to  the  other.]  Thank 
you ! 

ALLAN. 

You  know,  father,  you've  only  been  home  about 
half  an  hour— there  hasn't  been  time  to  tell  you  all 
the  news. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Be  silent ! 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  159 

ALLAN. 

[Quietly  to  BERTHA.]  Bertha,  my  knee  is  awfully 
bad — come  and  walk  about  in  the  garden. 

[They  steal  out  through  the  window.] 

PINCHING. 

If  my  action  has  been  at  all  undecided  in  this 
business,  Jermyn — 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Mr.  Pinching  ? 

PINCHING. 

I  hope  you  will  attribute  it  to  my  good  fortune  in 
being  engaged  to  one  of  the  ladies  concerned. 

Miss  MOXON. 

I  am  afraid  /  don't  come  out  of  it  as  well  as  I 
should  like  to,  Mr.  Jermyn. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Excellently,  Miss  Moxon.  I  thought  you  had 
been  guilty  of  a  joke — I  find  it  is  nothing  of  the 
kind.  . 

Miss  MOXON. 

Oh,  take  me  away !  I'm  not  used  to  unkindness 
and  can't  bear  it !  Take  me  away  ! 

[PINCHING  leads  her  out  through  the  conservatory.] 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Brice.  A  few  moments  ago  you  asked  me  to 
destroy  the  letter  which  you  now  hold  in  your  hand, 


160  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

and  I  refused  to  do  so.  I  am  now  ashamed  to  dis- 
cover that  it  is  a  letter  written  by  my  wife  to  which 
your  signature  has  been  obtained  by  unfair  means. 
Is  that  so,  Diana  ? 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
It  is  so,  Spencer. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  am  in  your  hands,  Mr.  Brice — what  do  you  in- 
tend to  do  with  that  letter  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Return  it  to  you,  Mr.  Jermyn,  thinking  you  may 
some  day  see  in  it  nothing  but  the  evidence  of  an 
impulsive  lady's  compassion  and  tender-heartedness 
toward  a  very  poor  man. 

[He  hands  JERMYN  the  letter  and  walks  away  to 
the  veranda.] 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Spencer. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Diana. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

• 

That  is  the  truth.  I  wanted  to  aid  Mr.  Brice, 
who  is  so  badly  off.  I  wrote  the  letter  hoping  to 
obtain  his  signature  fairly,  but  when  he  had  signed 
it  in  ignorance  it  fell  into  Mr.  Pinching's  hands. 
Oh,  you  see  what  a  plight  philanthropy  has  brought 
me  to  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Unfortunately  everybody  can  see  it 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  161 

MKS.  JERM^N. 

I  know  I'm  a  spectacle.  It  was  worse  than  indis- 
creet of  me  to  take  Constance's  place  at  Mr.  Brice's. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
I  won't  contradict  you. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Thank  you.  I  did  it  on  the  despairing  discovery 
that  you  couldn't,  wouldn't  sympathize  with  my 
aims. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Oh! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Yes.  But  even  then  I  didn't  let  anybody  but  you 
take  me  to  London. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Don't  jest,  madam. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

I  won't,  dear.  Perhaps  because  I  was  in  Mrs. 
Laudon's  bonnet  and  waterproof  you  did  not  recog- 
nize me. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Diana  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Yes,  Nettles,  and  you  paid  for  my  ticket  to  town 
— but  only  third  class.  And  then,  you  must  re- 
member, when  I  did  get  to  Mr.  Brice's  there  was  the 
boy — our  son — to  watch  over  his  mother.  And 
what  has  been  my  greatest  fault  ?  Why,  procuring 


162  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

a  Warden  for  the  much-needed  Home  !  Oh,  don't 
look  like  that,  Nettles  !  The  Home  at  Shodly  Heath 
is  a  flourishing  establishment — in  your  hour  of 
triumph  pity  my  complete  collapse !  I  thought 
that  a  ragged,  uncombed,  unwashed  community  was 
my  sphere.  Spencer,  I  have  found  out  it  isn't! 
[Crying  on  his  shoulder.]  Surely  you  can  feel  for  a 
philanthropist  less  fortunate  than  yourself !  [NOEL 
comes  into  the  room.]  If  I've  done  no  good  I've  done 

no  harm [She  sees  NOEL.]     Except Oh, 

Spencer,  you  know  the  mistake  that  has  occurred. 
Say  what  you  like  to  me— but  beg  his  pardon,  for  I 
can't. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Mr.  Brice,  Mrs.  Jermyn  tells  me  I  am  to  beg  your 
pardon.  I  do  so.  I  have  married  a  very  foolish 
headstrong  lady — I  beg  your  pardon.  Mrs.  Jermyn 
keeps  your  niece  company  and  assists  you  in  your 
parish  work  without  my  permission — I  beg  your 
pardon.  In  the  meantime  you  fall  in  love  with  my 
wife,  sir,  and  you  ultimately  propose  marriage  to 
her  in  my  presence — I  beg  your  pardon. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  You're  not  doing  it  prop- 
erly! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Mr.  Jermyn,  the  tone  you  speak  in  spares  me  the 
pain  of  thinking  that  you  believe  an  apology  is  neces- 
sary. As  for  my — mistake,  it  is  slighter  than  you 
imagine. 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  163 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Slighter  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Yes,  sir.  The  only  great  mistake  possible  in  pro- 
posing marriage  is  to  select  an  unworthy  object.  I 
fell  into  no  such  error.  I  believed  Miss  Moxon  to 
be  a  generous,  warm-hearted  lady,  whom  any  man 
should  be  proud  to  call  his  wife.  I  thought  that, 
and  I  think  it  still ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

[Pointing  to  MRS.  JERMYN.]  But  your  Miss  Moxon 
is  Mrs.  Jermyn,  Mr.  Brice  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

So  I  find — and  upon  that  I  congratulate  you  with 
all  my  heart. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Eh?     Oh— thank  you! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Before  I  leave  your  house,  Mr.  Jermyn,  I  wish  to 
discharge  the  duty  which  brought  me  here,  f  Go- 
ing to  the  window  and  calling.']  Shattock  ! 

[SHATTOCK  appears  at  the  window  with  PEWS,  MOULTER, 
and  LYMAN.     SHATTOCK  advances  into  the  room.] 

SHATTOCK. 

Don't  listen  to  'im,  lady  and  gentleman — he's  a 
outsider,  lady  and  gentleman  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
I  desire  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Jermyn,  that  you  are  har- 


164  TEE  HOBBY-HORSE 

boring  at  your  house  at  Shodly  a  set  of  unprincipled 
ruffians,  to  whom  the  man  who  befriends  them  is  an 
object  of  contempt  and  ridicule. 

SHATTOCK. 
It  was  'Opkinson  wot  said  you  had  a  tile  off,  sir  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
A  tile  off !     Send  Hopkinson  away  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 

[Taking  a  written  paper  from  his  pocket.'}  I  am  go- 
ing to  hand  over  to  Mr.  Jermyn  a  letter  written  by 
you,  Sbattock,  which  was  intercepted  by  the  man 
Hawkins  and  given  to  me  last  night. 

SHATTOCK. 

A  letter  !  Wot  letter  ?  [JERMYN  takes  the  paper 
from  NOEL  and  reads  it.  To  JERMYN.]  Don't  'eed 
it,  sir — don't  'eed  it !  It's  a  forgery,  sir — there's  a 
low  lot  in  the  'Ome  ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Diana  !  This  is  a  letter  from  this  man  Shattock 
to  a  person  named  Emanuel,  of  Newmarket,  offering 
to  dispose  surreptitiously  of  eight  brass  candlesticks 
and  all  the  cutlery  and  linen  in  the  Shodly  Home. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
Oh,  Spencer  ! 

SHATTOCK. 
I'm  learnin'  to  write,  sir — it's  my  exercise,  sir ! 


THE  nOBBY-IIORSE  165 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Let  every  man -jack  of  you  be  out  of  Shodly  Farm 
by  four  o'clock  to-day,  or  I'll  put  this  letter  in  the 
bauds  of  the  police  ! 

[PEWS,  LYMAN,  and  MOULTER  sneak  away,] 

SHATTOCK. 

[With  scorn.]  The  police  —  you  wouldn't  get 
smiled  at,  would  you  ? 

NOEL  BRICE. 

Come,  my  man,  I'll  walk  with  you  to  the  lodge 
gate. 

SHATTOCK. 

What,  Mr.  Spencer  Jermyn,  did  you  think  you  was 
a  goin'  to  patronize  men  o'  the  position  of  Bob  Ly- 
man  and  me  !  Let  this  be  a  solemn  lesson  to  you. 
Why  you  ought  to  be  warned  off  every  respectable 
race-course — you  foolish,  vain  old  gentleman  ! 

NOEL  BRICE. 
Now,  Mr.  Shattock,  please  ? 

SHATTOCK. 
'Ere  !     Am  I  to  be  paid  for  my  time  or  not  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

If  you  don't  leave  this  room  I'll  ring  for  my  ser- 
vants. 

SHATTOCK. 
Hah  !     There's  orstentation  ! 

[SHATTOCK  goes  out  through  the  window  and  dis- 
appears, followed  by  NOEL.] 


166  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

The  wretches  !  The  ungrateful  wretches  !  The 
sleepless  hours  this  scheme  has  cost  me  !  Nothing 
so  complete  had  ever  been  organized.  And  then  to 
think — only  to  think — that  it  shouldn't  work  after 
all. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Oh,  Spencer  !  Your  philanthropy,  like  mine,  is  an 
awful  failure — let  our  common  misfortunes  bring  us 
together.  Nettles ! 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

But  look  at  my  position  !  A  little  while  ago  I  had 
a  Home  without  a  Warden,  now  I've  a  Warden  with- 
out a  Home ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Write  to  Canon  Carver  and  beg  him  to  do  some- 
thing for  Mr.  Brice. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

I  will — something  a  long  way  off. 

[ALLAN  and  BERTHA  appear  at  the  window.] 

ALLAN. 

Father  !  those  Shodly  Heath  men  are  picking  all 
our  flowers. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Let  them  pluck  them  up  by  the  roots. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

[Pointing  to  ALLAN  and  BERTHA.]  Spencer — look, 
I  suppose  you  guess  what  that  means  ? 


THE  HOBBY-HORSE  167 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
The  scamp — yes. 

MRS.   JERMYN. 

Well,  then,  why  shouldn't  we  —  both  of  us  —  re- 
build the  old  farm-house  at  Shodly  and  furnish  it 
sumptuously  as  a  home 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 
Another  Home  ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 
A  home  for  Allan  and  Bertha. 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Allan's  home  at  Shodly,  eh?  That's  something 
like  my  scheme ! 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

It  is  your  scheme.  And  then,  in  time,  when  there 
are  thirty  or  forty  babbling  babies  rolling  upon  the 
grass  — 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Yes,  but  that's  your  scheme,  Diana. 
MRS.  JERMYN. 

It's  something  like  my  scheme.  Don't  you  see, 
Nettles — we  shall  please  each  other  at  last  ?  [PINCH- 
ING and  Miss  MOXON  appear  outside  the  window.] 
Spencer,  are  you  still  thinking  that  you  can't  for- 
give me? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

No.  Diana — I  am  thinking  that  I  shall  be  less 


160  THE  HOBBY-HORSE 

seen  at  Epsom  and  Ascot  and  Goodwood  and  Don- 
caster. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

Hush,  Spencer — why  ? 

SPENCER  JERMYN. 

Ah,  because  I  mustn't  leave  my  wife  alone  any 
more,  Diana. 

MRS.  JERMYN. 

No,  Nettles,  but [Taking  his  hand  affection- 
ately.]    You  must  always  take  her  with  you.     . 


THE  END. 


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